


Black Widow

by clarkesjade



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Everyone Has Issues, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark Friendship, No obvious romance, Protective Natasha Romanov, Some Humor, but if you like the couple theres buildup for it, kinda dark and bleak, mentions of the avengers, tiny bit of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2019-10-03 12:51:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 56,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17284406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarkesjade/pseuds/clarkesjade
Summary: After she released every piece of her secrecy to the world, Natasha Romanoff flees to get back her feeling of being a competent spy. Unfortunately, her old enemies have resurfaced, and have plans that force Natasha to meet old partners and old horrors.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is essentially my take on a Black Widow movie. Mostly set right after Captain America: The Winter Soldier, and i tried my best to fit it in so it flows with Avengers: Age of Ultron towards the end. This has a lot of what ive personally wanted from a black widow movie, a dark enemy and tone, not too bigscale, and more espionage than action.
> 
> *not edited*

1962

The relentless sounds of torture and murder weren’t a stranger to the people of the Red Room. A lonely, almost castle like structure that stood in the snows of the Soviet Union, disguised to the Russians and Ukrainians as an elite ballet school, but known to the highest ranks in the government as a breeding ground for their secret army. Their most talented assassins were created in this building, cut open, broken down and reformed by the cruelest most efficient ways. 

Currently, the familiar grunts and shouts of a sparring match spread inside the Room. With the recent alliance created by remnants of the Nazi’s science division and the Red Room, the Soviet Union excited themselves at the prospect of an efficient victory. Training was started immediately, and the weakest of the girls being groomed for killing were eliminated, quick and simple.  
The general of the Soviet’s military, the principle of the Red Room and the owners of the Nazi’s asset stood by the boxing ring, calmly eyeing the fights. A tiny brunette was thrown onto her back by the asset. 

“That is the third time she has failed,” the general spoke, his voice ringing through the room. The brunette glanced up, eyes wide with fear. He stepped up to the ring, looking down coldly at her.

 _“Halt,”_ the owner of the asset said in Russian, and the asset assumed a normal stance. 

“We have no use for weaklings,” the general continued, and nodded behind her.

At the vague words, two guards of the Room moved in, and escorted the exhausted girl into a hidden, enclosed space in the neighboring room. A swift, delicately quiet bang was heard, and the guards walked back in, the girl absent. 

A few of the girls outside of the boxing ring, winced, but most stood tall and unwavering. Killings were a near weekly event, sometimes the darker forces already established in the Soviet Union would take hostages here. The girls of the Red Room had long since learned to sleep through the screams.

“None of your students can handle my Soldier,” the owner of the asset added in Russian, grinning haughtily. The asset was indeed a soldier, and the people who knew of him had dubbed him the Winter Soldier. No one knew of his origins. His mind was absent of human emotions and belonged to his owner. He might as well have been a weapon, to explain the lack of personality.

The principle, a pale, middle-aged woman with icy blonde hair swirled into a tight, smooth bun and dressed in expensive royal blue robes cleared her throat. The girls knew her as Madame B.

“Romanova,” she called, her voice cold but calm. One of the girls, a redhead, looked up. Her posture was that of a ballerina, but the principle knew she was anything but so innocent.  
The redheaded girl stepped into the boxing ring elegantly, and tilted her head to the side, eyeing the asset up and down. She had spent her waiting moments analyzing his style. He operated cleanly but with more force necessary. He favored his left arm, although it was made of metal which had proved an advantage. She had memorized the pattern he tended to follow, and built a sturdy defense in her head in seconds.

Madame B. nodded once and stepped back, the hint of a victorious smile on her face.

The fight ensued without further prodding. As the grin worn by the owner of the asset fell hit by hit, Madame B.’s smile only grew. Not with pride at her student’s capability, but by how well she knew she’d be rewarded for it. 

The redhead was incredibly smart and agile, moving like a dancer around the asset. She tired him out before using his back as a stepping stool to leap into the air and kick his head into the ground. She landed gracefully, and then preceded to stand with her arms at her side. Not a strand of hair had been flitted out of place, and she appeared full of calm breaths. 

“Impressive,” the general said, chuckling and clapping twice. “She’ll make a fine contender for the Black Widow program.”

The owner hissed at his asset in Russian, and although the man showed no change in expression, it was obvious his words were not complimentary.

“I hope so, general,” Madame B. replied coolly. “I trust my payment has doubled as promised.”

The general nodded intently. “Your daughter will be living a good life, Madame.”

The woman’s face contorted into one of glee, but no common motherly love was present. 

“With her, and our Soldier, America will fall in the blink of a simple night,” the General said, gazing at the two contestants in the ring. He moved his gaze to the girl. She was young, but had already lived a longer life. “What is your name child?”

The redhead held his gaze, determination spread across her expression. 

“My name is Natalia. Natalia Romanova.”


	2. Part 2

2014

The freeze of Norwegian winds felt like miniscule blades that tore through Natasha’s skin. The combination of the persistent icy breezes and burning ash from the campfire she huddled around befuddled her body and she wasn’t sure anymore if she was cold or hot. 

The fire was a risk, especially in the situations she’d since been in, but it was a risk she had to take. 

She’d rather be sniped and killed in an instant than freeze to death anyway. 

Days had felt longer since her agency dissolved, just a month or two. After her darkest secrets became accessible by a Google search, Natasha had fled the states to assume another identity, and regain her sense of secrecy. The discomfort of having the world know your story was overwhelming for a spy.

Especially when your enemies would know too.

Which is how she found herself stranded alone in a dark forest blanketed with snow in Norway. It was the foremost the first country she wrote on a list of places to try on new personas in, but after she felt accusing and unfriendly eyes on her back in a café, she ran. 

Natasha ignored the sliver of regret that she hadn’t told a soul where she was. Fury was in hiding as well, but Clint was in the dark about her. Fortunately, Natasha and Clint didn’t go hunting for each other unless they were confident it was serious. 

Steve and Sam were on their own hunt. Tony was probably enjoying life as a billionaire, inventing more iron suits. The last she’d heard of Banner or Thor was when they hindered an alien invasion together. 

Even as Natasha felt her muscles turn to cold stone and her feeling in her toes start to disappear, she outright refused help. As the fire in front of her, lazily created from a match she had from the minimal supplies she’d stolen from the Triskelion after it fell, began to die, and the embers faded to black in the snow, she would slowly stand up and walk along a highway to find something warmer. 

She wondered what people would think of her if she pleaded for assistance, especially after fighting aliens alongside gods and monsters. 

Her fingers dug into the snow, too frozen to feel the ice anymore, and tossed the white powder into the last flame. “Wish they could see the great Black Widow now.”

Her voice, low as it already was, seemed darker and weaker than usual. She hadn’t spoken in hours, though.

When the last wave of heat matured into particles of the cold, Natasha finally rose, and kicked the two pieces of wood back into its natural state near trees. It took all of her energy to move her stiffened legs. 

The sky had paled but not quite darkened. Clouds a shade darker flooded the evening as Natasha drudged along the highway. With each step her muscles grew stronger, and she warmed slightly with more movement but the motel she’d set her eyes on earlier was under a mile away. As the night approached, golden street lights flickered on, and the flash of a car every few minutes aided her sight. 

Passengers stared but drivers continued without stop. 

Natasha pulled her hood further down to her eyebrows. Her red hair, down to her chest and back in its natural waves was tucked neatly in the hood. Her signature black suit was hidden by several common layers of winter clothes, despite the early spring months. 

The motel was isolated near the same forest, and just a mile or so from a village in the mountains. It wasn’t a horror cliché, but it wasn’t the most inviting. Rustic. Old, but not dead. 

An empty parking lot, with the exception of two cars covered in frost, greeted her as she trudged into the building. A clock inside the lobby gave her the time of day, half past seven.

A man at the front desk, young and very freckled, smiled brightly.

_“Hello, are you here for a room?”_ he asked kindly in Norwegian. Natasha lowered her hood but still had it lifted to hide most of her hair. She nodded slowly, eyes scanning the room. She gave the man the once over, trying to discover anything threatening. 

_“It’s 400 kroner for the night,”_ he spoke, shuffling for a clipboard he placed on the desk separating them. _“I’ll need a name and cash or credit up front.”_

Natasha nodded again, and reached in a coat pocket. She carried a thousand in Norwegian currency, worth barely a hundred dollars. She sniffled from the cold that still lingered in the lobby and counted four a hundred bills. 

The man exchanged the money with the clipboard and pointed at the middle, where empty boxes stood. Only a few names had been registered here in the year, and Natasha wondered how much action this man saw in the motel. 

The clipboard was a sign-up sheet, requiring only a name, and the date of arrival and departure. 

Natasha clutched the pen attached to the board, twirling it around her fingers for a moment, before she started scribbling. All her premade aliases with SHIELD were exposed, and it took her a quick moment to construct a fast one on the fly.

Fortunately, her hesitation was too short to be noticeable. 

She drew her new name, Julie Rushman, in overlarge swirly writing. She gazed at the last name for a short second, and let a small smile escape her composure. The nostalgia was worth the risk. It was only a night and she’d be gone. Then the pen moved to the date and she paused.

She glanced up with a brow raised. _“Uh, the date?”_ She hoped her Norwegian was right.

The man looked up from placing the money in a case. _“16th of April.”_

Natasha quickly wrote the date and tomorrow’s in the following boxes in the same font. She didn’t realize so much time had passed since the Triskelion, and her hearing. She handed the clipboard back with a fake but believable smile.

_“Alright, Julie Rushman,”_ the man commented, and stowed the board away. _“Rushman, is that American?”_

Natasha wished he could just give her the room and go but a small feeling of guilt forced her to stay. The number of names on that board told her this man would be lonely in this bare motel all the time.

_“My father is from New York,”_ Natasha conversed easily, the language coming back to her. Her pronunciation wasn’t perfect but it had to do. 

_“Ah. Yes, room 5 should be ready for you. Thank you for staying with us, have a nice night.”_ The man replied, his friendly grin still present. He handed her a key and that was it. She knew this man was analyzing her, not in an unfriendly way, but nonetheless, sizing her up. He couldn’t blame him. She looked cold and haughty at the moment, her skin was red and ice cold and she carried nothing with her but cash. And not knowing the date didn’t help her case either. 

The lobby was scarce of decorations, but warm and lit up nicely, and that’s all that mattered for now. A lone, dying plant had stood on the registration desk. She wondered for a moment about the man’s life. He probably lived in the village nearby. Friendly, liked helping people, but lonely. He knew his job but meshed it with personal kindness. 

Natasha shook her head. He was just a kid. A teenager looking for money. He wasn’t a threat, an enemy, someone she had to keep an eye out for.

She could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head as she exited the lobby and back into the lot.

Her arm brushed against her chest, the blade of a knife pressing on her side. She knew she’d be sleeping with it in her hand, regardless of how nice the man appeared. 

Maybe the simply pale sky, the buzz of street lights that created the only sound except for her footsteps and the lack of people put her on edge. Or maybe she’d been alone for too long.

God, she craved a mission. Something to focus on, an enemy, a target. She needed to feel in control again, like she had a purpose still. She’d been wandering around, searching for new personas, building an identity. Julie Rushman. Natasha didn’t want to be Julie. She wanted to be the Black Widow again.

Her room was incredibly basic. A white, queen sized bed, carpeted brown floor and peeling wallpaper. A door led to the bathroom and the room was tied off with another dying plant on a nightstand.  
Natasha peeled off her jackets, and the extra, baggy pants she had. Her dark catsuit was a dead giveaway she wasn’t a common woman, especially the gun and several knives stored in holsters and secret pockets.

She sat down on the bed. It was comfortable enough. Terrible quality, surely would hurt her back, but as beds go…comfortable. The room was illuminated by a single light on the ceiling that was too white. She felt like she was in a dentist’s room.

Her mind drifted, hazy in the warmth, and she wondered what Steve and Sam were doing. She’d aided them slightly, only slightly. They would’ve probably made it to Siberia and back by now, checked out the grounds where the Winter Soldier was born. CCTV footages from DC right after the Triskelion fight could help them. 

Natasha stood up, and paced around the tiny room. Her stomach tugged when she was reminded by the secrets she’d kept from Steve. It had been for his own good. And in the time during the fight, it was need-to-know. Maybe she should’ve told the two at the cemetery. Would it have helped? She considered the locations she knew he knew. Her train of thought led her to a wonder if the Winter Soldier was doing exactly what she was…

The crackling of gravel and sudden flashes of light outside her room made her back away, concealing in the shadows. A car had arrived in the lot, and the engine sound held for a minute as the car parked before it was turned off. 

That couldn’t be a coincidence. 

Natasha had arrived a mere five minutes earlier and saw three names on the registration sheet for the year, and now someone else was pulling in.

A soft click sounded as Natasha reloaded her only gun.

She put on her outer dark jacket, and peered through the window. A smartly dressed woman in a pure white coat with the hood up stepped out of the car, an old white van. Maybe it was white, it was covered in snow and frost. The woman strutted off to the lobby, her face completely concealed from Natasha’s angle of view.

Natasha moved silently to the door, opening it and slipping out without uttering a sound. Her gun was pushed up and hidden in her sleeve, easily accessible with the bend of her wrist. She leaned against the outer wall casually, trying to see the woman in the lobby through her peripheral vision. 

The woman, and the man who worked the motel were talking amicably, although the woman had her backed turned, the man was laughing and she could just hear the buzz of a conversation. 

“Oh my God.”

Natasha’s head snapped to her left, where a girl was staring, open mouthed. 

Her heart nearly skipped a beat and she tilted her wrist slightly to let the gun slip an inch, but she didn’t compromise herself just yet.

The girl looked around college aged, dirty blonde hair and pale skin, although her cheeks were pink. She had dressed for the cold. 

Her eyes widened when Natasha faced her. “You are Natasha Romanoff?”

Natasha clenched her jaw down, and stared the girl down. She didn’t dare face the people in the lobby, and focused on containing whatever the hell was happening in front of her.

The girl had a Scandinavian accent, and at the moment her voice was filled with glee, save for the stammering. Natasha’s mind whispered ideas of a trap and how to get out. She’d been tricked by enemies blessed with believable acting.

How did this girl know her name?

Natasha narrowed her eyes and leaned forward, and the girl took several steps back with her hands up, fear clouding her eyes.

“Oh God, I am sorry, I am so sorry, I did not mean—”

Natasha stepped back too, letting her guard fall by one brick. She could see the genuine fright in the girl’s eyes, fright that was hard to mimic. 

Natasha put on an aloof, but not unkind demeanor in an instant. “’S’alright.”

The girl’s smile returned, and she let out a nervous but excited laughter. “Wow, sorry, so are you really the…?”

Natasha gave off an elusive smile, and glanced around casually to avoid the girl’s intense stare. And to check if anyone in that lobby had moved. 

The woman in the white coat was gone.

“Wow,” the girl continued, still smiling. “What are you doing here, at a motel?”

Natasha faced her again, with an eyebrow delicately raised. The girl shook her head and slapped her forehead.

“Right. Stupid me, yeah, you can not tell me, right?” the girl said, scoffing to herself. “I can’t believe I am meeting you though, you are an…uh…inspiration to me.”

Natasha’s brows crunched together, and she stared at the girl, confused. An inspiration? Her?

“Oh, is that…?” the girl’s mouth stretched diagonally, giving off the impression she was embarrassed. “Sorry. It’s just…I saw that conference a month ago about the thing in Washington, and I saw you on the tv in New York years ago. You are…. kind of the reason I have taken up fighting again. Tae Kwon Do actually.” She laughed awkwardly. “And…actually I do Tae Kwon Do with my boyfriend. He’s a trainer, and right now he’s inside sleeping. I kind of want to wake him up now but…he needs the rest. We’ve been driving for hours.”

Natasha blinked rapidly, still confused. This might’ve been the oddest meetup she’d ever been entangled in. She opened her mouth but the girl kept rambling, and Natasha couldn’t bring herself to silence her stammering.

“We live in Oslo, you know, but my family lives in a village up north and we are visiting for the Easter break. But…our car, the sedan over there, is out of gas and no one is answering their phones…so.”

“That’s too bad,” Natasha let out after the girl stopped talking for a full second. She couldn’t let herself be exposed like this any longer. “Well I have to…”

“Oh yeah oh yeah,” the girl said, gasping. “You have things to do. I will not keep you here any longer. But thank you, for what you did for us.”

Natasha smiled again, and it almost felt genuine. The girl disappeared into her room next door with a small wave, and the moment the door slammed shut a buzz of conversation in her room broke out.

She bit down on her lip, still bemused. She hated the fact that anyone could recognize her now but…that praise, the kindness. 

It was rare, too rare for her. She didn’t even know what to do in response.

So, she took one more glance around. No woman. There was a strange feeling in the air for a second, and Natasha went back into her room, closing and locking the door.

Natasha’s gun slid out of her hand, and she sat down on the bed, and waited. She wished the couple next door would calm down; their eager talking was too loud. God forbid the girl encourage her boyfriend to greet her.

She felt bad for scaring the girl at first. It was too odd to have someone walk up and call an assassin an inspiration. 

Natasha tried to focus on what that white woman was, if she could be someone dangerous, but her heart kept reminding her about the young girl who was excited to talk to her. Natasha sunk down on the bed and let the corners of her lips tilt up again.

Did Tony ever get this treatment? Everyone knew who he was, practically inside out. Or maybe this was a one-time thing. Maybe she’d been lucky to find someone who liked her. Perhaps there were hundreds who hated that a double agent was working for them. You can’t trust her.

Silence.

Natasha snapped awake, back in the present.

The loud sound of silence. Only her breathing. 

The couple was silent.

The gun slid down. The safety switched off.

She crept out of her room. Her head rang with the silent noise of thoughts.

Was it a trap? Had it been a trap?

It was silent. She glanced at the lobby. Empty.

The door to the room next door was open, creaking from the swaying caused by winds.

Her hands raised, the gun up and her finger brushing on the trigger.

She walked into the darkness of the 6th motel room, and her hand dropped.

She didn’t even need the light flicked on, but her fingers reached for the switch anyway.

The girl’s body was splayed out across the floor, face down. A brunet boy, presumably the boyfriend was still on the bed. They could’ve been asleep, passed out. 

The blood pouring from their heads and staining the carpet purple and sheets a deep red told the real story.

Natasha closed her eyes and her head fell into her empty hand. The other clutched the gun tightly. 

It was her fault.

She should’ve known better.

A whistle of the winds made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, or maybe it was the sudden wave of cold.

She spun around. Call it instinct, a gut feeling. But she knew this didn’t end in this room.

And what she saw made her raise the gun, fingers gripping it a little too tight.

The woman.

She stood in the parking lot, her back facing Natasha. Hands in her pocket. The hood up. She could’ve been frozen.

Her white coat was unstained.

Natasha stepped forward, almost in a trance. Her footsteps were silent. The recent fallen snow aided her. 

But she knew the woman heard her. 

Natasha stopped just a few feet away from her, the gun pointed at her head. She didn’t need to say anything. The woman lowered her hood, and light brown hair spilled out. Her head tilted side to side.

Natasha narrowed her eyes, and the woman leaned, preparing to turn. 

And all at once her brain screamed at her, something was here, behind her, and her thoughts screamed and screamed, her stomach on fire and her body like ice.

The woman turned around.

Then nothing.


	3. Part 3

The first thing Natasha could comprehend was a tapping sound, repetitive, soft but fast. Too fast to be a clock. Maybe someone tapping something?

Then her eyes scrunched when pain thudded in the back of her head. She tried to reach behind to massage and numb the pain but she couldn’t place the location of her hands. They certainly weren’t where they normally were.

Her senses heightened fast as Natasha regained consciousness, slowly and painfully. She kept her eyes shut. 

She was definitely in an enclosed space. Cool and quiet, save for the tapping. The room smelled old and rusty, and bitter, like a basement. Her sense of hearing sharpened, and she heard the unmistakable sound of breathing, other people breathing.

She wasn’t alone. 

And then she understood how she was at the moment. Her arms were above her head, wrists shackled together. Her toes could barely brush the concrete feeling floor.

What had she been doing last? She remembered snow. No, white. She remembered white. She remembered the white woman, and the strike someone behind her had taken against her before the woman could turn around. 

She saw the bodies of two innocents, shot cleanly in the head. 

Someone had her captured.

Natasha opened her eyes.

The room definitely looked like a basement. Grey walls that enclosed a space barely bigger than a decently large bathroom. A table stood at the far end, with an open case. A case the contained and presented deadly torture devices. Deadly, she knew already from experience.

These people were outdated, just slightly, and used similar weapons she’d come across.

Natasha flitted her gaze to the people staring at her, and located the man in front who had been tapping his foot rapidly.

“About time,” he said with a low growl. The man was dressed in complete black, covering every inch of his body, but it wasn’t a winter look. It was a fighter’s look. An agent. 

He was surrounded by two women and another man. All were young, early thirties and moderately attractive. Well built, muscled. Yet oddly, they all looked the same, blandly generic. Their expressions were empty, but alarmingly cold.

The first man walked around Natasha’s suspended body, and Natasha realized she’d been stripped. Her outfit had been ripped up, her stomach, arms and shins exposed. The comfortable catsuit had been chopped roughly around her knees, shoulders and waist. 

Easier to torture, she supposed.

The man eyed her up and down. Natasha didn’t feel an ounce of self-consciousness or whatever. She’d been in worse situations, with worse people. She glanced up at her wrists. They hung with a thick but not strong thread that was firmly attached to a hook in the wall. 

Not difficult. But Natasha wanted her answers.

“Not as strong,” the man commented, facing her again and crossing his arms. The hint of a Russian accent came out in the last word. “A betrayer. Weakened by the Americans, a pity.”

Natasha narrowed her eyes at him, and the people next to him smirked slightly.

“I wonder what she sees in you,” he continued quietly.

“Who’s ‘she’?”

The man grinned for a moment, before nodding at one of the women. A brunette stepped up and without further warning, struck Natasha in her gut with a swift punch.

Natasha winced, grunting and her body folded a few degrees from the pain. Unfortunately, not enough to numb anything, due to her suspension. She swallowed and glared back up at the people.

The first man approached her again, tsking repeatedly and looking down at her disapprovingly. “Ah, Natalia. The company you keep made you naïve, did it not? The fallout of your actions, did you ever consider them?”

Natasha’s jaw clenched, her fists tightening in the chains. Her mouth twisted into a snarl. “Can we skip to the part where you tell me who you are?”

The man smiled broadly, and in that moment the other man reached in the case, lightly plucking out a ragged, bended knife. It looked like a deformed black candy cane. 

The second man approached Natasha, tilted his head, and placed the curved blade on her stomach.

Natasha bit her lip, preparing for the pain she’d endured too many times.

“We are your family, Natalia,” the first man replied, holding out his arms. “Soon you will be home again.”

Then the blade hooked into her skin, and was dragged down right under her bellybutton. She felt the warm trickle of blood spill out, and drop to the floor and soft taps, like rain. Her face contorted from the searing fire feeling of being cut open. 

The knife, bloodied, was pulled back and the second man watched her struggle. 

“You deserve this pain and more,” a woman spoke up, the one who so far hadn’t moved. “For where you put your allegiances.”

“We’ll have a little more fun before she comes back,” the first man added, and stepped closer, gazing at the slit in her bared skin.

Natasha stared at the wall, and made the calculations in her head. Just enough. Her stomach would scream from the pain, but if she did it right, she’d survive. 

It was worth a shot.

The man leaned forward and opened his mouth to whisper, the sick grin still present on his face. “You traitorous—”

In a split second, Natasha had grasped the chains around her wrists and executed an incredibly painful straight leg pull up. Her legs wrapped around the man’s neck and she jerked to the side, twisting her body so hard his neck snapped, and he crumpled to the floor below her.

The other three gazed in shock for a moment, before turning their vision to Natasha, who looked murderous. The room was too small to avoid her.

Her legwork was too efficient. In moments, she’d kicked the blade out of the second man and pushed him away, knocked down one of the women, and snapped the second woman’s neck by kicking her jaw from a specific angle. She back kicked the first woman down.

Her focus moved to the wall. To swing would be excruciatingly painful. Her stomach was already burning, but her mind was strong enough to numb it substantially. Not enough to strengthen her to her maximum potential.

Her toes couldn’t kick off from the ground hard enough, and she struggled to shake off her restraints. Then her opportunity arose, the second man. The only who not down yet, who stood up straight, his face painted with cold fury. She couldn’t calculate anymore.

So, she swung forward, and mixed a walk with a kick into his chest, moving up onto the wall and walked onto the ceiling swiftly.

In the position she was in, pain was unavoidable. Her stomach was practically stained red, and burning hot from the slit skin. Every movement caused a sting that made her heart rush.

She was now completely attached to the ceiling, her feet and hands holding her upside down. The chains were easy to snap with a small stomp of her feet, which had weakened the hook’s hold. She fell down, losing her grip on the ceiling immediately. Her back landed roughly on the pile of people she’d struck down, and she was momentarily out of breath from the hard fall.

Natasha closed her eyes, trying to ease her pain, to no avail. When she heard a grunt from one of the women, who was rousing, she sat up and elbowed her in the face, silencing her sounds.

It took a moment to recollect herself. 

Then she stood up, navigated through the unconscious bodies, and wiped the blood from her chin. Being upside down made her look like someone who sloppily drank blood. 

Natasha reached for a gun in one of the woman’s pocket, and picked up three small, deformed looking knives, then stopped to take in her surroundings.

The door. A door on her right, definitely meant to camouflage with the wall. 

Past the unlocked door was a narrow, lifeless hallway. Natasha hated she was almost defenseless, no shoes, torn up suit, none of her own weapons.

It would have to do.

She heard the footsteps approaching, people yelling orders, the sounds of a flurry coming from the end of the hallway.

Natasha didn’t stop walking, and raised her gun, finger on the trigger.

The first people sprinted into the hallway from the end, men and women alike. 

She shot them all in seconds, her expression unmoving. 

Unfortunately, bullet wounds to the chest didn’t desist them immediately. 

Her punches into their bullet wounds, kicks to the groin and gun butting to the head did, though. 

An alarm started sounding as Natasha exited the hallway, and started moving faster. She took a right, and her eyes flitted side to side, spotting a window that was half obscured by dirt, but sunlight still seeped through. 

At least she wasn’t hundreds of floors under. 

More people came rushing in. They weren’t typical henchmen. They could actually fight with strategy, rather than pure brawl. And being cut up in the middle limited her trademark move, forcing her to operate in punches and headbutts. She reached for a knife to take out a woman and used a few more bullets for a couple of men. 

Natasha raised her gun with both hands, having stuffed the knives through the near ripped up holsters in her pants. With a trail of dead enemies behind her, she moved more stealthily forward. Her heightened senses caught an open room on her right, and she slipped in, narrowly avoiding more nameless, similar looking people with weapons hurrying to locate her.

She locked the door behind her and took a short breather. Her cut hadn’t stopped bleeding, and her headache was starting to betray her famous endurance. 

“You just need to get out, that’s it,” Natasha told herself, repeating it through rapid breaths. She glanced up into the room, and her eyes widened at the sight. Her heavy breathing ceased.

The room’s focus was an oval table in the center, surrounded by ornate decorated chairs, a theme of pale purple and white that evinced wealthy people strategized here. Oil paintings hung on the walls, next to warm wall lamps that illuminated them properly. 

She thought some of the people had a sense of familiarity. Not that she’d met them before, but that she just understood these people. They were all middle aged or elderly people, dressed elegantly.

Natasha turned to gaze closely at the table, and noted a few crumbs and a drop of liquid on the polished wood, indicating a recent meeting. 

But the real focus was the massive map that was clearly a presentation for the room, showcased on a whiteboard.

She stepped closer, her gun still raised, an ear turned to the commotion outside. No one had found her yet. 

The map was displaying a stage coupled with seating surround most of it, as well as sketched images of other areas. Blueprints. Names were written scribbled across the box seats, along with arrows pointing to hallways that led to stages, soundbooth, bathrooms on other floors and so much more. 

The title of the blueprints read “The Metropolitan Opera House”, and a date that, after learning of today’s (at least she hoped it was still today’s) at the motel, seemed all too close. 

Then she recognized the names of the people in the box seats. And it all connected. 

Had she been gone so long, that she hadn’t heard of the Director of Russian’s Federal Security Service and the Director of the American Central Intelligence Agency meeting to watch a ballet in New York in two days?

Were her captors planning an assassination of the Director of the CIA? She narrowed her eyes, and her brows furrowed when the Russian Director was the one crossed out, with an arrow pointing from the sound booth. 

Natasha took thirty seconds to analyze every inch of the map, squinting, and attempting to memorize every piece of information written on the blueprints.

Then she burst out of the room, firing the last of her bullets onto every single person aiming at her, and started sprinting. The moment’s break had given her body a chance to heal for even a second, and she felt stronger. 

Her brain pushed the blueprints into the back of her mind, and prioritized an exit. Stairs ahead of her. Blocked by two men. She brought one to the floor with a knee to the nose, and the second with her last blade slitting his throat open.

She moved up the stairs two at a time, groaning in pain with each thud her feet made with the cemented, filthy floor that was more ground. 

The upper level mirrored an abandoned warehouse, complete with dusty, ghosts of tools, dust and cobwebs piling in every corner, and shattered windows that let the sun in easily. 

Thankfully, she wasn’t surrounded anymore, except one woman pacing, clearly guarding the downstairs. Natasha shot her in the head and started sprinting towards the open doors. 

And she was out. Her hand covered the bright sun, and she panted slightly from her run combined with the heat.

No, she wasn’t in Norway anymore. This land was flat and bare, wind picking up dirt that covered the ground. Dry green grass completed the look of a lonesome area, isolated from urban cities. A drastic difference from biting winds decorated with snow and looming mountains. 

A road greeted her outside, and led into the horizon. Several black limos and expensive cars were driving away on it. She knew these were the people who had to have been in the meeting, who were just leaving.

She lifted the gun, pointing it at the last vehicle, a large SUV, trailing behind the train of cars and shot out its back window. Then she started running, and through the shattered glass, she could see the driver, who was speeding up. 

She shot him in the shoulder, just near enough his head to make him swerve and slow down. 

She sprinted, pushing the last of her energy into her legs, and caught up with the last car. The other cars either didn’t notice or care, still driving ahead. 

Natasha ripped open the front door. 

The driver surprised her with a quick punch to her jaw, and she staggered backwards. She raised her gun again and squeezed the trigger, only to be met with a laughably quiet click. The man winced, then grinned at her loss of weapon. 

His laugh was silence by her gun slamming into his skull. She dragged his limp body out onto the dirt, and tossed the gun with it. Then she moved back towards the passengers’ seat behind. Her fist struck the window, cracking it easily.

A man, dressed in a fine suit with his dark hair combed back, glared up at her, but his hands tentatively raised.

“Get out.”

The man opened the door and stepped out with his hands up, and stared down at the ground.

Natasha shoved him down on to the ground, to avoid him getting the best of her. Hurriedly, she climbed into the driver’s seat, shoved her foot on the gas pedal and the car raced forward. She looked up into the mirror, and saw several people by the warehouse holding firearms, shooting at her.

She swerved the car left to right, avoiding bullets hitting the tires, and once she’d sped far enough, she turned a full 90-degree angle to the right, and pushed harder on the pedal until the warehouse was no longer visible.

She glanced up at her reflection, and realized how terrifying she looked. Her hair was tangled and blood covered her neck and jaw. She suddenly remembered the pain in her stomach, now agonizing.

They weren’t going after her.

She realized that when she’d driven far enough and was approaching a small town, and no one was tailing her. She ripped off part of her pants to clean up the blood around her neck and face. As she glanced in the mirror, she still looked frightening, but she couldn’t do much at the moment.

A man walking on the sidewalk in the town caught her attention, and she honked the car’s horn, getting his attention. She rolled down the window just a bit, hiding her bloodied body.

“Can I help you?” He asked, kindly but hesitantly. He looked at what he could see, and took a step back.

“Where am I?”

“The…the town, ma’am? You’re in Ben—”

“No,” Natasha interrupted loudly, frustrated. Her hand was shaking on the steering wheel. At least she was somewhere in America. “What state? What…what state am I in?”

The man’s eyes were wide with worry, and his lips pursed. “Uh, Iowa, ma’am?” he stammered out, his voice high. His eyebrows couldn’t raise any higher.

Natasha’s breathing was out of control, and she closed her eyes calming herself. Iowa to New York was about a day’s drive. 

“Ma’am? Do you need me to call someone? The police?”

“I’m fine,” Natasha snapped. “Which way is East?”

The man stared at her, before shaking his head. “I don’t, I don’t know, ma’am. Is everything okay?”

Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose, thinking back to a common US map. “Illinois? Right? Which way is Illinois?”

The man squinted at her, bemused, before straightening up. He pointed behind him. “I believe it’d be that way.”

‘That way’ was to the general left of where she’d been driving from. She glanced past a shop that blocked most of her sight. 

“Okay.” Natasha nodded to herself, her mind racing. Her hands gripped the steering wheel.

“Are you sure you’re alright, ma’am?” the man said, with a frown and concern splashed in his eyes.

“Yes.” 

“You look kinda familiar—”

“No, I don’t,” Natasha cut in quickly, her eyes focused on the road ahead of her. “Thanks for your help.”

She rolled up the window, and pushed on the gas pedal, moving forward without another word. The man stood in the dust, confused as ever.

Natasha took the earliest left turn, and leaned back, accepting a long drive ahead of her. Her stomach pained her, she was weaponless, almost naked at this point from the clothes that had been ripped off by herself and others, and she looked like a wild animal. But that couldn’t stop her now.

She was going to the ballet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading! any feedback is appreciated!! For the next chapter i can assume you know what kind of setting it'll be taking place in lmao. You'll be introduced to some more permanent characters now. And I'm picturing the vibe of the opera scene from Mission: Impossible Rogue Nation, if you haven't seen it and are interested in this story i'd recommend checking it out. Tbh, i'd recommend the whole movie. ty again for reading :))


	4. Part 4

The journey to New York proved difficult, but not impossible. Natasha had been an outlaw before, stranded and alone. This time, she had the wonderful privilege of being saved from the chase of the government.

First, she needed clothes. And a shower.

She stopped in the neighboring state of Illinois, in some middle-sized city. Due to the time jump backwards, she was still in the 26th, and watched the sun set all over again. She drove around, watching the gas slowly sink until she started to worry slightly, searching for a large gym. Once she parked after locating one, she moved inside. The gym was still open, but nearing its closing hour. A barrier prevented her from the gym’s equipment and lockers, accessible with a member’s keycard.

She stole black tights and a black tank top from the small selection of exercise items being sold near the barrier. Then slyly snatched a hairband and hairclips from the counter near the entrance. Changed in an instant behind a rack of sports bras, without anyone detecting her.

This was going to happen fast. She had to slip through the barrier while someone left, without them getting suspicious.

Her hair was still messy, and dried blood was sticking to her neck and now clothes. She looked scary, but she just had to duck her head and no one would notice much. Her cut had stopped bleeding hours ago, and although sent flares of pain signals that made her flinch when she moved in a certain way, she was able to appear healthy. The cut would be gone in a day.

A group of women, laughing with each other, were exiting the gym. Natasha started walking towards the barrier. She’d have to shove past them rudely, and move along without stop, to avoid confrontation, and thus attention.

One woman activated the barrier from her end, and her group started filing out. Natasha pushed past one, ignoring sighs and huffs of indignation. She squeezed past one woman, her foot holding the barrier open and passed through, inside the member’s area of the building.

Another woman shouted after her but Natasha pushed through, her eyes locating signs for the locker rooms. Down the stairs, at her right.

Night fell quickly after that, and Natasha had hidden herself by breaking into one of the larger lockers in the woman’s bathroom, and shoving herself in. It was painful, and slightly embarrassing, but it allowed her to hide from a trainer who came down to check for people, swinging her keys and humming a tune, before she concluded it was empty and locked the doors and shut the lights.

About an hour later, Natasha was drying her hair off, having showered in mere minutes to clean her body and tame her hair even a little. There were no towels, which meant using a blow-dryer for everything.

She moved quickly. Clothes on. Hair tied up, still wet but she didn’t have more time. Picked the lock with the hairpin. The gym was eerily quiet and dark, not dark enough to be pitch black. Yellow streetlights that streamed brightness through the windows gave the large room a ghostly grey feel.

She leaped forward, pushing off on the barrier with her hands, flipping into the air and landing on her feet outside of it. Picked the look of the front door and escaped.

Her cut didn’t like the stunt she pulled. Her fingers brushed her side, and found small droplets of blood leaking out. Nothing serious, but her healing would be pushed back a bit.

Natasha’s second part was burning her suit and the car with the rest of the gasoline in the car and a lighter, hiding the fire by finding a clearing in a near forest. She didn’t stick around for anyone to find it or her. The flames were even more visible in the darkness.

Third, she stole a car. She strolled towards a shadier part of the city, finding old, scratched up cars lining littered sidewalks. Natasha had stolen enough cars before to know what kind of model to search for, certain models that were easier to break in to. Her eyes set on a She checked for any alarms, then smashed the backseat window with her fist, cleared the glass and climbed in. She’d have to find a metal rod to break in more stealthily later. All she needed to do was break the wheel lock, and connected the contact wires and wires of the starting-engine to start driving.

This process was repeated every few hours, except instead of burning the cars, she just left them on the sidewalk. Eventually, she managed to get her hands on more appropriate clothes, a metal rod, gloves, shoes, and even a bit of money. The food helped greatly, too.

In Pennsylvania, Natasha stopped at a mall to use a laptop in an electronics store, reading about the ballet. Tickets were obviously sold out ages ago, and beating the security at the Metropolitan Opera House on the day of the ballet was laughable.

For simple people, maybe.

She searched for blueprints, other people attending, any more information she could find on the ballet. The ballet in question was The Rite of Spring. An interesting choice, Natasha thought to herself as she read through the story. Unfortunately, the blueprints at the warehouse hadn’t told her when in the ballet they planned the assassination.

Then she glanced around, behind and to her side. No one.

She searched for the SHIELD files she’d exposed. It involved tapping into the deep web, and using a .onion address she’d generated while she was in the process of releasing them. Several walls blocked her, but since Natasha had been the one to create the passwords, she slipped through each wall easily. Every single SHIELD file and bit of information they had access to lay behind these walls. Certainly, and experienced deep web or hacker could find these, but it’d take so much time. Too much patience. The amount, the length and complexity of the passwords was frustrating for an amateur.

Through the files, she searched for the cameras they had access to. She searched for New York, and for the address she knew her next stop would be.

And she sped through footage of the back of the Metropolitan Opera House.

At seven-thirty each night, like clockwork, someone left the building to dump a bag into a dumpster that sat on the wall of the Opera House.

Natasha deleted the history and departed from the store, no one any the wiser.

Her plan was already building in her mind.

She’d have to sneak in somehow, join and blend with the crowd. She’d have to keep an eye out for anyone suspicious. People as assassins, and people who considered she’d make an appearance. The people at the warehouse had no way to be sure she saw the plans, but they knew she was smart enough to figure something out.

They knew her. They called themselves her family.

Natasha didn’t know if she was ready for those people to be back. Not after she’d been safe from them for over a decade.

With her potential appearance, and the security for two head of agencies in one building, there would have to be many operatives in the building, to take over and help should one be caught by security. Which means multiple points in the building to complete the deed.

Which means more enemies.

She’d need a gun, a blade, any weapons she could find. And a dress.

***

The red carpet had been rolled out for guests of the ballet. The valet rushed past a handful of celebrities and wealthy folk to drive sleek cars away. Cameras crowded the entrance, desperate for the best images of a famous singer and a well-known actor. Flashes blinked furiously when a long limo slowed to a stop, tailed and led by several black motorcycles and cars. The head of the CIA and FSB had arrived. They shook hands for the camera, and walked at a brisk pace into the building. Their security, stone faced, followed just inches behind.

Natasha twirled a small, short knife around, flipping it over and under her hand expertly. Another, thinner knife was holding her red hair up in an elegant twisted bun like a hair stick, with a single strand of hair grazing the side of her cheek. Her makeup made her look like a celebrity. On her shoulder, her bag hung. Not too small, not too big. Just sizeable enough to contain a thin black top and leggings that she could switch to.

Her dress matched her hair. A strong, almost blood colored shade of scarlet. A tight red bodice fit around her body snugly, formed like a leotard. Over, her chest to her feet was covered with a glittering red veil, sprinkled with gemstones that faded along with the veil into the multi layered red skirt. The veil continued up past her chest, wrapped around one of her shoulders.

Perhaps it was careless, wearing such a dramatic and exquisite outfit. A gun was stashed in a hidden holster she’d cut out inside the dress. Even more careless, when she had admired the lit-up Opera House and understood she wouldn’t be being photographed by anyone. But it didn’t take much to dress up as a disguised agent. When she arrived in the city, early, she recalled the old, now abandoned, or course, SHIELD warehouse in SoHo, that stored a very small selection of weapons in walls and under floorboards. Meant to be a safe place to hide for agents who were undercover, and without backup. Her dress, however, was stolen. She’d made a mental note to find a way to pay the stylist back for the gorgeous gown, especially since she’d cut holes in it.

At the moment, she was leaning on the side of another building, watching the commotion with careful eyes, concealed by the darkness surrounding the area. The Opera House was like a disco ball in a black room.

Natasha’s focus was cut off by a figure. Someone was on the roof.

She stowed away the knife and leaned forward. It was a woman, in a flowing dress that waved in the wind. Colors were indiscernible. All Natasha could really make out was the silhouette. The woman was moving fast but concealed on the roof.

Natasha flattened out her skirt and started moving.

Unbeknownst to her, the eyes of a shadowed man on a parked motorcycle watched her leave.

At the back of the Opera House, the large, dirty dumpster sat, contrasting heavily with the ethereal building. She stood there, waiting minutes.

She imagined it had to be seven-thirty when a young man exited the building through a rusty door, whistling with a trash bag slung over his shoulder.

Natasha let a small smile escape. She breathed in, and strutted towards the boy. Her face transformed to present an entirely different person, effortlessly.

“Hi, excuse me, sir?” Natasha asked, with a polite and shy tone that she rarely used.

The man spun around, and his eyebrows raised, looking her up and down.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, sir,” Natasha said with a dazzling smile, her right hand clutching her left arm and swinging gently to the side. The man shook his head, his mouth stretching into a soft smile subconsciously.

Natasha bat her eyelids subtly. “It’s just, my mother and I planned to see this ballet today, the premiere, you know? But she hadn’t shown up yet, and she has the tickets.”

The man nodded slowly, staring at her.

Natasha’s self confidence bubbled to the top. “I saw you come out and I was wondering if you could let me inside just so I could use the bathroom for two seconds, and I’ll go right back out.”

The man glanced around, his eyes wide with worry. “Uh, yikes, I’m sorry, ma’am but I can’t—”

“It’s Nadia,” Natasha said with a sweet tone. “I really don’t want to cause trouble sir. I’ll do anything, I just really need to use the bathroom.”

“Nadia, huh?” The man said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know…uh—”

“What’s your name?” Natasha asked kindly.

“Uh, Jackson.”

“Jackson,” Natasha echoed, smiling even more brightly. She tucked the strand of her hair that was framing her face to the side. Her eyes flitted back up to him, and she pursed her lips. “Please, Jackson?”

Jackson’s hands fell to his hips and his face scrunched, clearly contemplating the situation. He stared at her for a minute. His face relaxed with a sigh.

“Okay. Okay, okay,” Jackson muttered, and gave her a soft smile. “Just, don’t tell anyone, okay? I need this job.”

“Of course not,” Natasha replied, winking at him.

Jackson led her inside the building. This part didn’t seem like a fine New York building, rather like the backstage of a common theater. Dimly lit, narrow, with neon signs pointing to certain rooms in every direction.

He stopped only seconds later, gesturing to a neon plaque that displayed a typical bathroom symbol.

“Thank you, really,” Natasha said, her hand brushing his shoulder before she turned swiftly, entering the bathroom.

The moment the door closed behind her, she realized she’d need to do something for about two minutes before she could leave again.

She walked to the far end. The stalls were all on the right, and a long mirror for the sinks stretched from end to end on her left.

Her hands grasped the marble counter, and she leaned forward, tilting her head and analyzing her face.

She’d used makeup at a cosmetic store to truly almost alter her appearance entirely. Her lips were drawn up plumper and a deep shade of red. Contour and highlights managed to change her bone structure ever so slightly, giving her almost a different head shape. Her eyebrows were darker and shaped. Her eyes framed with thick, black lashes and surrounded by black and glittering silver eyeshadow. If you really took her in, you could guess her to be the Black Widow. But at a quick glance she looked like a simple, young, wealthy woman.

With a loaded gun pressing against her thigh and knives hidden in the folds of her dress.

Natasha blinked rapidly, noticing something peculiar.

The mirrors were all squares, clearly attached to each other to form a long rectangular shape, with about an inch difference, except the one she was staring at. She made an estimate. The last mirror was five inches away from the others.

She moved to the side, and looked at the edge of the mirror. It protruded out an inch further from the wall than the others, which were flat and glued onto the wall. Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed, and she squinted at the mirror, no longer as if it was a reflecting tool. But as if it was hiding something.

Her time was running out.

She reached under the mirror, her fingers easily fitting under the plate. And, easily, smoothly, she dragged her hands up, the panel following.

The last mirror plate lifted upwards, revealing a dark nook inside the wall.

Natasha leaned forward, and peered inside. It seemed someone had cut through the wall, using it as a hiding space. Her suspicions were confirmed with a large duffel bag that sat comfortably inside the nook. She jumped onto the counter and leaned further down.

Either a bomb or weapons.

She unzipped the bag.

Guns. Lots of guns.

Natasha zipped it shut.

She gently pulled the mirror down, and brushed her hair back in place with a dab of water.

Jackson was none the wiser.

“You’re really sweet, you know?” Natasha told him, as she walked towards the exit again. Jackson was tailing her slightly, obviously making sure she planned on leaving.

Jackson flushed, and bowed his head. Natasha evaluated pushing her luck, and went for the kill.

She stopped a little before the door and kissed his cheek.

As she pulled open the door, Jackson’s voice rang out, complete with a voice crack and slight stammering.

“Hey, Nadia. You think I might see you again?”

Natasha turned. He remained further back, far enough to not catch her trick.

She smirked. “You just might.”

Jackson shoved his hands into his pockets, grinning, and nodded his head. He turned and walked away as she stepped outside.

The thud of it closing, and her absence would confirm for him she’d left.

Fortunately for her, she’d slipped her knife in between the door’s lock and where it met its frame, the moment she stepped foot on the pavement outside. Meaning it had shut, but not automatically locked.

She waited outside in the cool air for about a minute, then opened the door again, grabbed her knife as it slipped out of its holding spot, and stealthily slipped back into the bathroom.

Where she hid in the stall nearest the door.

Someone was coming for those guns.

Natasha wondered if it’d be the woman on the roof. But in that case, she’d just have to enter normally, since she wouldn’t be carrying weapons. This was the setup for a second operative.

Natasha hid in the stall for what felt like an hour, although must’ve been just twenty minutes, when finally, someone barged into the bathroom. Previously, two women had quietly come into use the bathroom. Now, someone had burst in, stomping across the marble floor.

Natasha leaped up onto the lid of the toilet and leaned to the side. She hadn’t locked the door.

There were two outcomes. Either the operative, if they were an operative, would check each stall thoroughly, in which case this was the moment she took one out, or they’d check the occupied sign on the door, in which she could continue peering through the crack in the stall.

She got lucky. Someone stopped by each stall, for only a moment before moving towards the end.

It wasn’t the woman she’d spotted on the roof. It was a man, in a simple suit, who reached for the mirror at the end, opened it and pulled out the duffel bag. He loaded himself with guns, hiding them in his suit. The duffel bag was then carefully put back, the mirror closed, and he left the bathroom.

Natasha waited a beat.

Then she followed him.

Her journey following the second assassin took her through backstage, hiding from technicians and costume fitters, even backup dancers, up several flights of stairs, through brightly lit hallways and near a balcony that overlooked a large staircase carpeted with red. The entrance hall. She’d narrowly been caught by him. She used columns in the building, other people, and turns in the hallways to avoid his accusing glare.

The man joined the crowd arriving to the ballet. Thus, so did she.

She’d successfully snuck into the ballet.

Natasha eyes analyzed every single person. The assassin in front of her was joining the swarm of people that were headed towards the audience. An interesting choice. She supposed he was a backup. You can’t assassinate someone amongst the audience. Which meant the main assassin was lurking around, finding their spot. Natasha went back to the moment in the warehouse, trying to recall where the arrows pointing to the head of the FSB started from.

The sound booth. The sides of the building. The stage itself.

Natasha breathed out, understanding the gravity of her situation. She’d have to sneak into every single nook in this building while the premiere of a ballet occurred, and the heads of intelligence agencies watched.

The backup assassin entered the theater room. Natasha broke off from the crowd and continued up the stairs with confidence. She didn’t know where she’d end up. She’d just have to keep moving and fabricate a lie if she was caught.

By the time she’d avoided security three times, and checked out the view from behind a box seat on a balcony, the ballet was starting. The orchestra tuned their instruments, and sprung into the first piece. The curtains rose soon after.

Natasha saw the CIA and FSB heads. Sitting in balcony seats near the edge on the other side, admiring the dancers. Blissfully unaware of the murder that was preparing to take place.

She continued searching through each area of the theater. Music floated from the stage to her ears. She caught glimpses of the most talented dancers effortlessly and gracefully move across the stage. Twirling, leaping, swinging side to side.

Natasha started walking back, past the entrance and moved through the other side of the building. It was nearly identically structured.

The woman.

Natasha had begun a walk through a long hallway that led to the balcony seats when she saw the woman. It had to be her, her who was moving gracefully across at the end of the hallway.

She was a blonde woman, hair short and cropped at her shoulders, dressed in a simple, silk, yellow ball gown.

Natasha’s pace quickened instantly.

The blonde woman continued, and proceeded down another hallway, pushing past a heavy door. Which was when Natasha saw the long, sleek sniper rifle stapled to the back of her dress, partly concealed in the folds of her dress.

The woman stopped.

Natasha braked in her footsteps, and twirled around, crouching to hide behind the wall of a different hallway that connected to the one the blonde stood in.

The blonde woman turned around, and Natasha saw her face for a split second. Shock flooded her mind.

The face that’d be impossible to etch out of her mind. Small nose, piercing blue eyes and a mouth that never seemed to twist out of its normal scowl. Natasha’s gut twisted at the recognition of her fellow Red Room student. Yelena Belova.

Natasha never wondered of the possibility, especially since Yelena turning to work with these people was so farfetched, considering the circumstances of Yelena’s aliveness.

Yelena didn’t seem to spot her. She turned back and continued her path.

Natasha sunk into her spot for a moment. Another player was in the game. This time, someone who she knew.

Natasha stood up and followed Yelena’s path. Unfortunately, after her moment of disturbance that Yelena was in the same building as her, she’d lost her. Yelena had disappeared.

Her teeth grinded together.

She found herself on a middle floor. Not near the balcony seats of the targets. The level where the middle of the rich chose to seat themselves. She opened the door to the balcony quietly. The ballet was in its second act. Music swelled repeatedly as a single woman danced across the stage, dressed in a pale beige dress.

Natasha allowed her mind to think about Yelena. Yelena wasn’t stupid enough to assassinate someone from right behind them. She was trained just like Natasha. If she knew it to be a reckless move, then so would Yelena. She’d have to be finding a different area to target the head of the FSB. But Natasha couldn’t recall an arrow that was drawn from near the targets.

Her gaze moved towards the back of the theater, and met the sound booth.

Where another man stood, alone, raising an automatic rifle.

Natasha’s heart started beating a few beats faster, and her body stiffened for a second before she was on the move again. Two assassins were preparing to make the kill.

She sprinted back towards the entrance, and pushed through a door labeled “employees only”.

Another neon sign met her after a few turns in a dark hallway, that would direct her to the sound booth.

She busted through the door.

The man turned around. It wasn’t the one she’d tailed earlier. He raised his gun at her. Natasha grabbed the edge of the rifle and pulled it forward, twisting it until he let go. Her leg flew up in a roundhouse kick, and she nearly pirouetted to land the back of her elbow into his jaw. The man stumbled backwards, until Natasha rolled forward on the ground, picking up the gun on the way, and swung the back of the gun. The butt of it struck his skull, and the light in his eyes went out as he toppled into unconsciousness.

Three bodies of sound and lighting technicians lay in their seats, either knocked out or killed by the assassin. Natasha’s fingers pressed on the side of their necks. They had a heartbeat.

Natasha’s breath slowed, her hands wrapped tightly around the gun. One down.

A pane in the glass window in the sound booth had been taken away, ensuring a perfect shot of the target, who was still enjoying a ballet. A solo was clearly taking place. The music was building a crescendo, percussion in the orchestra a highlight.

Natasha lifted the gun and peered through the front sight. She couldn’t spot Yelena.

Something was off.

She stared at the head of the FSB leader. Her gaze narrowed. There was no way she’d reach another hit point before he was killed. But nothing happened. The man’s head was intact. His chest was free of blood stains. Natasha’s mind raced with thoughts, trying to understand the problem. Perhaps the problem was she couldn’t locate the problem.

She felt like she hadn’t stopped the progression of the plan one bit. And she couldn’t figure out why.

The solo dancer in the center of the stage struck a pose as the music practically reached an explosion of sound. Natasha couldn’t help but move her gaze to the lead female. She watched her dance and dance and then stop again.

Then Natasha’s legs turned to blocks of ice, and her lips parted in shock.

She didn’t have to squint to see the dancer freeze in the middle of her dance, her expression turning to horror.

As the center of her beige dress, right where her chest hid, blossomed into redness that seeped through her clothes, dying her dress.

The dancer’s hands clutched her chest, her fingers touching the blood. She shook violently, before collapsing on the stage.

The music faltered. Natasha stumbled backwards. The ballerina lay unmoving on the floor, something liquid red spilling over her body.

Someone shouted something in the audience. The conductor’s hands fell in the middle of his music. People, some dancers some backstage helpers flooded the stage, examining the girl who had fallen.

Then someone screamed.

And the theater filled with shrieks and cries of fear and horror.

Natasha dropped the gun and fled.

Someone had shot the ballerina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long!! School and presentations and homework got in the way. I'd originally planned this part to be much longer, but i was passing the average word limit for these parts, and decided to cut it in half. Next part, which i'm hoping will be up faster than this was, will answer some questions you might have about a certain "shadowed man" and a red room fellow student ;) feedback is welcome and appreciated, thanks for reading!!


	5. Part 5

The pandemonium occurring at the Metropolitan Opera House was unparalleled. Natasha had had her hand in some impressive assassinations in crowed areas, but she always had control. Her mind knew the outcome, no surprises.

She was out of control now. And she had to get the hell out, right now.

Natasha sprinted from the sound booth, down the stairs. Sirens were already here. She could hear the screams of guests, hurrying out of the building, despite people yelling at them to calm down.

Natasha ran right into the crowd, purposefully tripping into someone else. That way she was in someone’s mind as a panicked individual, not someone who’d snuck into the crowd.

She mumbled out a hasty but kind apology, and someone, she couldn’t even see who, dragged her arm up and the mob pushed her outwards.

The sirens were so much louder outside. She could imagine the hell the CIA and FSB leaders were going through. The two should be on lockdown, either inside a secure room in the building, or dragged outside to be driven away as fast as possible.

The sight was beautifully terrifying. Around the building, other structures were dark shadows compared to the lit-up Opera House. Women flooded out in multicolored dresses like a rainbow, crying in terror, the golden light from the Opera House fading as they scrambled into the shadows, fleeing in cars or being stopped by an army of New York police.

Natasha felt almost dizzy, right in the middle of it all. Every where she turned, someone brushed past inches away from her. Her eyes searched for the yellow dress. For Yelena.

Yelena couldn’t escape on the roof. She had to bleed into the crowd just like Natasha. Any other exit was suspicious. Or perhaps Yelena didn’t care about being seen. Natasha didn’t even know she was alive until now. Maybe the government had no idea who she was, and they never would.

Natasha was so hyper focused on Yelena’s mission, whatever it was, it took her a few moments to catch the silhouette of a man hiding in a courtyard across the street. The courtyard was tiny, matching the small collection of stores that surrounded it. The man was hiding exactly where she’d stood right before she marched into the Opera House.

Natasha swore she saw a motorcycle concealed by a large tree, and a long, thick stick hanging over his back that looked too much like a weapon.

Even louder sirens erupted, followed by a loud roar of several vehicles rushing past. Natasha watched as one black car with tinted windows, led and tailed by two more larger cars, and then led and tailed by people on motorcycles sped past her. She knew instantly who was in these cars. At least the two were getting out safely.

Her gaze fell back instantly to the man in the shadows. She felt a sort of pull to move closer, to find out who he was.

Her hand slipped through the folds of her dress, fingers brushing the rough metal of her gun.

Then a flash of white and an ear-splitting screech made her nearly collapse to the ground in shock, and the bang of an explosion found her ears.

The air being pressured outwards from the explosion created almost a storm of winds, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around her head and neck, waiting for the detonation to end.

Her sense of hearing was temporally numbed for a second, but she pushed through, finding her balance in an instant and observing her surroundings. Her arms fell back into place. She was uninjured.

Some around her dropped like flies, shouting things, helping people up. Some people further away were still lying on the pavement, crying in pain or unmoving.

Natasha found the site of the explosion.

The blown-up cars driving the heads of the FSB and the CIA lay in the wreckage of a successful assassination.

She’d failed.

The concept of the fact that Natasha had no idea what was happening anymore was almost enough to scare her into submission, willing to find a place to hide before she could uncover what really happened. She needed to find the connection between leaders of an intelligence organization and a lead ballerina. She needed to know why Yelena was here and what she’d been up to in the last decades. She needed to know why there was an assassination plan tonight.

Police ran to aid the injured, and many to examine the crash. They shouted into radios on their uniforms, speaking codes and requesting backup, stating civilians were hurt.

Natasha’s eyes moved around wildly. The man had disappeared into the shadows, though his motorcycle was still there. No women in silk yellow dresses were in her sight.

The one thing that caught her eye was another dark figure. Running. A massive firearm slung over their back. One that could cause an explosion like that.

Natasha started moving, at first it was a slow traipse. Then it turned into a jog when she’d crossed the road and down to her left, where the figure was still running away ahead.

Her jog quickened into a run. Her bag slammed into her chest repeatedly, and she let the strap slip down to her wrist as her pace sped to a sprint.

The figure turned a corner. Natasha followed. They ran down into an underground parking garage, past the boom barrier and down a steep hill.

Natasha kept her eyes focused on the person. Yellow lights in the garage revealed a man in a suit, and a clear gun in his jacket that he was reaching for as his pace slow down.

Natasha froze in her tracks and rolled to her side, hiding behind a grey Volvo. She contained her breathlessness easily, as she heard slow footsteps inch towards her. She moved silently around the car, and gazed out from through the windshield and back window.

He spotted her, and shot out the windows.

She used the sound of glass shattering to move faster past a row of cars. To her right, a drop to the next level under presented itself.

He shot at her again, narrowly hitting her. The bullet screeched along the metal of van. Natasha took a chance and threw herself over the ledge, landing by rolling on top of a truck. She grimaced, her back having taken the force of a large car.

The man peered over the ledge, and found her struggling to get up. He aimed the gun at her head from above her.

Natasha abandoned her attempt to stand up and rolled on her side, falling off the roof of the truck and onto the cement of the ground.

She wasn’t doing much to ensure the cut on her stomach healed properly.

Natasha reached for her gun, and clicked off the safety. She rose to her feet, and rolled over the hood of a car, hiding right in front of it, waiting for the man to drop down.

It was silent for too long.

She tip toed backwards, her gun raised up, looking for the hint of anything moving, a shadow, a noise. She heard the whoosh of something flying, and her eyes widened. She ducked and hit the ground in the middle of the garage as another explosion hit the van she’d landed on. Not as big as the one in the roads. Enough to destroy the van, and damage surrounding cars.

A creak sounded, and Natasha watched cement supporters in the structure crack and crumbles of rubble escaped from the ceiling.

The man emerged from the explosion, landing unscathed on the wreckage. Natasha backed up, her gun raised.

He continued stalking towards her without any signs of stopping, not a single weapon in his hands. Natasha hesitated, her finger retracting from the trigger. The firearm he’d used for the explosions lay in the wreckage of the van,

He wasn’t here to kill her.

In Natasha’s moment of realization, the man had run towards her, and grabbed her outstretched arm. Natasha squeezed the trigger, but he’d already dragged her arm forward and behind him, and the bullet disappeared into the fires from the destroyed van. As Natasha was jerked forward, his leg hooked around hers, and she toppled over. Natasha felt a kick strike her stomach and grunted in pain, the blunt force sending waves of stinging pain from her cut. She rolled over onto her back and refused any delay, letting a bullet find a home in the man’s shoulder. He stumbled backwards, but didn’t act as if he’d just been shot. More like he’d been simply punched or slapped. But the moment where he assessed his injury allowed Natasha to leap to her feet and kneel him in his gut. He doubled over and Natasha climbed onto his shoulders. She leaned forward, bringing him to the ground as she flipped around his body and landed on her feet.

The man panted, struggling to move after having his neck almost snapped in his fall. His head lay on its side on the ground.

Natasha reached for his arm and pulled it behind his back, her knee holding his forearm down. His breathing quickened with the presence of the pain.

Natasha leaned down. “You’re gonna tell me who you work for. Now.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but the coldness was impossible to miss.

The man’s breathing was obnoxiously loud, no answer emerging from his mouth. Natasha pressed her gun to the temple of his forehead.

 “Who are you people?” Natasha continued, her voice rising dangerously. “What do you want?”

The man’s breathing transformed into a breathless laugh that didn’t stop. Natasha pushed her gun deeper into his skin, by now undoubtedly causing pain. His laugh twisted into a sigh of pain, but the humor didn’t leave his expression.

“Kill me then,” the man said with a chuckle. He spit on the ground, blood coming out. It trickled down his mouth.

She glared at the back of his head, clenching her jaw and lifting her chin up. She couldn’t kill him now. Now that she knew he wanted it. Also, she refused to let him win this game.

Then she noticed the marks on his neck. A dark red mark. She narrowed her eyes. The mark had been burned on his skin. It consisted of two curly letters, one higher up and overlapping the other.

_RR_

Natasha’s breath halted for a moment, and her lips parted.

“You belong to the Red Room.”

Natasha didn’t know if she was talking to him or herself. Regardless, her train of thought was cut off by the man reaching for her hand and pressing the trigger for her.

In a second, the man had shot himself with the gun Natasha had pressed against his skull.

Natasha slid out of her grip, looking at the dead man in front of her with horror.

Another sound of dust and rubble flying off the ceiling, and Natasha realized she only had moments before the structure would begin to collapse, and she’d be buried.

The sirens were growing louder. And closer.

Natasha abandoned the man. She had no use for him anymore. She sprinted through the garage, taking a long way up to the upper level. Her gun was in her hand. Her dress was tattered and dirty. Strands of her had escaped her tight bun. She pulled out the knife holding her hair up, and her hair fell down to a curled ponytail.

The siren noises joined siren lights. They’d heard the second explosion.

Natasha gaze fell onto a black, door-less jeep.

Police cars broke through the boom barrier, speeding down the garage. They clambered out of their cars, guns raised, shouting orders. Someone yelled out about a body, and a fire. The police followed down towards the level under, driving down.

Then Natasha pulled out of the parking lot, having broken into the black jeep, and calmly drove out of the garage. The car and her had been in plain sight, and Natasha allowed herself some personal praise for making it out so quickly, especially when an army of officers was looking for killers.

She drove into a parking space near the courtyard. The man was nowhere to be seen. She assumed the man here was the same one who’d died.

The motorcycle was still there.

And it looked strangely familiar.

Natasha ripped off her dress in one pull, and slid into the leggings and the thin black top that had been stuffed into her purse in case she needed a hidden escape. The knife went into her bra. She didn’t care if it pierced her skin at the moment. She shoved the gun into the waistband of her leggings. She threw the ruined dress in the backseat, and pushed down on the gas pedal, driving back onto the main road.

The road where the explosion took place was blocked off. Ambulances had arrived, and medical officers where kneeling down, treating injured. Someone in a black bag was carried away by coroners. She didn’t know if it was the ballerina, the head of the FSB or a civilian. Journalists had arrived, snapping pictures of the building, the explosion, and interviewing victims and officers.

There she was. Natasha’s foot stomped on the brake, finding a blonde woman in a yellow dress moving elegantly around. She didn’t talk to anyone, but she didn’t look threating at all. She looked like an uninjured civilian. The sniper rifle that’d been attached to her dress was gone.

Natasha leaned out of her seat. The absence of a real door helped greatly in this case.

“Hey!” Natasha shouted. Many people turned, staring at her in confusion. One looked at her with wide eyes and pointed at her.

Natasha fell back in her seat.

“Shit.” She growled to herself, swinging her hair around to conceal her face. How the hell was she gonna get Yelena’s attention amongst hundreds of shocked and curious people? Some who might recognize her.

Natasha turned her head. It’d definitely get her attention, but only if Yelena was curious enough.

“Belova!” Natasha shouted, staring right at her.

Yelena turned in her gait, her eyes wide and furious. Her gaze landed on Natasha in the jeep. Before Yelena could do anything, Natasha jerked her head, nodding at her to get in the car. Yelena had frozen in her spot, her lips pressed together. After a second, she hurried over to the side of the road where Natasha was waiting.

“Romanova?” Yelena said, trying to hide the weakness in her voice. She stared at the redhead in front of her, unable to stop her expression from being anything but surprised now.

“Hey,” Natasha said again, this time as a greeting and not as a yell for attention. “Get in the car, I’ll get you out of here.”

Yelena didn’t budge, her eyes raking over the vehicle and Natasha with apprehension. Her expression twisted into one of consternation. Her arms crossed and she stared down at her.

“I should’ve known it was—”

“Get in the damn car, Yelena,” Natasha said through gritted teeth, her patience out the window, although in this case the car had no window. “We need to talk.”

Yelena’s eyes narrowed, and Natasha recognized the hatred in her face she’d seen many times before. The expression she could recall with the snap of her fingers.

Yelena glanced around her surroundings, her gaze landing on a couple police officers that were nodding in her direction.

In one swift move, Yelena leaped and slid into the shotgun seat. Natasha pushed down on the gas pedal, pulled a U-turn and started driving away from the Opera House.

Behind them, the motorcycle flared to life, engine roaring, and the man came back out of the shadows to straddle the bike. He drove off, tailing the jeep.

***

Winds passed through the skeletal car, not cold enough to make them freeze, but fast enough to make them slightly uncomfortable. The two women had been silent so far, with Natasha focusing on driving as far away from the site as possible before turning and heading to the abandoned SHIELD warehouse. Yelena leaned outside of the car, checking behind them.

Natasha couldn’t help but throw quick glances at her. Yelena had definitely aged, but she looked as young as Natasha. Her eyes were colder, nose stronger and her lips curled into a grimace every now and then. Her blonde hair, known as straight and to her shoulders, was curled and looked professionally done. She too, had dressed as a guest.

“The hell are you doing here?” Yelena finally said, gazing away from Natasha, staring out at the tall buildings that were slowly shrinking into suburban areas. “Aren’t you supposed to be knocking down cities with your band of freaks?”

Natasha’s head snapped to stare at her. She bit her lip, surprised by the hostility but also that Yelena knew exactly who she’d become.

Yelena smiled humorlessly, instantly understanding her expression. “Yeah, I know that’s you. I can recognize the star student after these years. Think the whole world does too.”

Natasha teeth clamped together hard.

Yelena shrugged. “Actually, I hacked into SHIELD a few years ago and saw you were a member.”

Natasha let out a sigh, exasperation mixed with a little amusement at what Yelena had been up to.

She glanced back at Yelena, utilizing the little kindness she had to continue a conversation.

“You could’ve joined them, too.”

Yelena raised a brow, a smirk growing on her face. “You mean the Nazis? Isn’t that what they turned out to be?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “I’m serious, Yelena.”

She scoffed. “Unlike you, I would never become an American agent to hide from my enemies. I’m not a coward.”

Natasha’s gaze narrowed into a glare, and she alternated looks between Yelena and the road. Yelena wasn’t opening up that easily, and clearly the hatred they’d had for each other had not crossed into understanding yet.

Fine. She’d bite. “Funny. That’s what your nickname used to be. ‘The Coward’.”

Yelena glared back. “You’re the one who defected.”

“You’re the one that ran away.”

Yelena held her gaze for a moment, and Natasha saw a flicker of something other than anger flash in her crystal blue eyes. Then her head turned and she brushed her fingers through her hair, looking anywhere other than Natasha.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

God, that expression pissed Natasha off. Yelena knew damn well how experienced Natasha was in the psychology of people, how to understand their motives, how to get to them. If there was anyone on this planet that could completely understand her escaping, it was Natasha. Though, she wasn’t in the mood anymore to dig deeper into Yelena’s conscious.

“Yeah, whatever,” Natasha muttered, swerving a right onto a long, dark lane surrounded by trees so dark they could’ve been black.

“You have a shadow.”

Yelena spoke up after a couple of minutes, and Natasha didn’t need any more information. The bright headlights were coming closer and closer behind her, too bright for her to see the driver.

“I can lose them,” Natasha started, until Yelena shook her head. She reached through the top of her dress and pulled out a small gun that concealed itself in the flat straps of her outfit.

“You’re on a pretty long stretch. What’re you gonna do, dive into the forest?” Yelena said with a sense of superiority, looking at her with that “duh?” expression.

Natasha let her fingers tighten on the steering wheel, releasing any frustration with her strong grip. Her knuckles whitened for a moment.

She breathed out and relaxed.

Yelena cocked her gun, and using a bar above her on the car, she pulled herself up and onto the roof. Natasha glanced up, seeing her ready to aim.

Then she jerked the steering wheel to its side and back again.

A small grin played on her lips. She couldn’t resist.

“Hey!” Yelena shouted, having toppled over in the sudden swerve. Natasha didn’t answer, now driving in a straight line for the rest of the road.

Yelena rose to her feet, standing with her legs far apart. The slight swerving wasn’t ideal, but she had a good enough eye to take out a tire or two with a bullet. The car was grey and old, and a figure sporting a black hood was speeding up the car, approaching them fast.

A bang sounded as Yelena squeezed the trigger of her gun and fired. The car swerved onto the other side of the road a second before, narrowly avoiding the bullet.

The car was close enough for the driver’s face to be visible, and when Yelena analyzed the woman driving, her grip on the gun loosened.

She knew that woman.

“Yelena!”

Yelena broke out of her trance at the sound of Natasha’s yell, and aimed the gun again. The bullet slashed through the front tire, and the squeal of the car swerving out of control was enough satisfaction for Yelena to slip back down into her seat. When she heard the crash, she relaxed.

“You see who it was?”

Yelena put her gun on the dashboard, clicking the safety off. She waited a full minute before speaking again.

“What’s the plan? Where are we headed?”

Natasha knew she was hiding something, but pulled away from her suspicious state for the moment. She still didn’t know if Yelena had had a hand in the assassination of anyone tonight.

“Somewhere I can ask you why the hell you were at the ballet tonight.”

Yelena nodded slowly, but her face showed anything but agreement. “Right. See, that’s not gonna happen.”

Natasha didn’t even bother glancing at her. “You’re not going anywhere until I get my answers.”

Yelena’s face furrowed into a snarl. “Uh-huh.” Her hands snaked to the top of the car, grabbing the bar again.

Natasha kept her eyes on the road. “So, I suggest—”

She let out a yelp in pain as Yelena pulled herself up and slammed her foot into Natasha’s side. Natasha lost her grip on the wheel and hung dangerously off the car. Before she could react again Yelena had repeated the move, swinging up and kicking Natasha successfully out of the jeep.

Natasha’s body hit the road, tumbling into the forest before coming to a forced stop at the trunk of a tree on the side of the road.

The jeep slowed down considerably as Yelena climbed into the driver’s seat.

Natasha winced, and reached into the band of her leggings for her gun, holding up in the direction of the car. She didn’t hesitate in shooting.

The jeep slid side to side as its tire was shot out, and slammed into a tree on the other side of the road in a blaring crash.

Natasha squeezed the trigger again, and heard only a click. She tossed the empty gun to the side.

Yelena emerged from the wreckage, relatively unscathed. She’d jumped out right before the crash.

Natasha held up her hands, holding her side as Yelena stormed across the road, back to her. Her expression was murderous, filled to the brim with rage.

“I don’t want to kill you, Yelena,” Natasha breathed out, but Yelena didn’t stop.

“Yeah? Then you’re the one that’ll die,” Yelena said ruthlessly with a terrifying snarl. She swung her arm at Natasha, who just managed to duck in time. Natasha backed up into the woods, trying to hide herself amongst the trees. Yelena couldn’t be fooled that easily.

Yelena let out a yell as she reached for Natasha to strangle her. Natasha responded by swinging her leg at the blonde’s head.

They were matched. They were trained with the same style.

Natasha tried strike Yelena with her hand hitting Yelena’s collarbone. Yelena attempted to dislocate Natasha’s shoulder. The women tried every move they remembered, but they each knew how to deflect it. They each outsmarted the other repeatedly.

Natasha finally gained the high ground when she leaped off the bent trunk of a tree to land a flying kick on Yelena’s chest. She staggered backwards, coughing horribly. Natasha shoved her into the ground, and finally drew her hidden knife. She didn’t really want Yelena to die. She just needed her to listen. And she needed the upper hand.

Yelena’s hand struck Natasha as she was leaning down, and Yelena jumped back up to her feet. Her silk yellow dress was ripped, burned and dirtied. Her face was contorted into an expression of loathing.

She grabbed Natasha’s arm and pulled, kicking her chest back at the same time. Natasha’s grip on the knife loosened, and Yelena pried it from her fingers. With another strike to Natasha’s nose, Yelena gained the upper hand. She flung her arm through the air, the blade of the knife slicing through Natasha’s upper arm. Natasha stumbled, blood seeping down her arm and splattering over her face. The throbbing ache of a broken nose spread down her face. The bridge of her nose had a stinging feeling that was incredibly painful.

Yelena dropped the knife as she launched herself at the weakened redhead, her knee landing in Natasha’s stomach, and Natasha crumpled to the ground. Natasha crawled on the ground for a second, coughing up blood as Yelena approached her.

Then Yelena let out a gasp as Natasha kicked dirt up into her eyes, and her fingers grasped for a rock in the dirt. Natasha threw the stone with all her energy. It missed Yelena’s head but struck her shoulder instead, and Yelena cried out.

It wasn’t enough.

Yelena sat herself on Natasha’s stomach, letting out a scream mixed with a sort of crying sound. She wrapped her hands around Natasha’s throat and squeezed, her hands shaking so much that Natasha shook too. Natasha’s mouth opened and closed, desperate for any air, but her eyesight was blackening, fading and the pain was unbearable.

Natasha fell still.

Yelena loosened her grip. Natasha’s eyes were open and staring cold into nothing. She reached for the knife that lay on the dirt beside her, getting ready to finish the job.

Her gut twisted when she understood she’d killed the famous Black Widow. She didn’t want it to end like this.

But Yelena refused to be controlled again. Her fingers grasped the knife.

Natasha blinked, and let herself breathe again.

That was long enough to play dead, she thought to herself.

Then she twisted her body to the side, and wrapped her thighs around Yelena’s neck. She rolled to the side, and in an instant, they had switched positions.

None of them heard the sound of a vehicle approaching and slowing down.

Natasha let out a cry of anger as she slammed her fist into Yelena’s face. And again. And again. She punched Yelena over and over again, until Yelena’s head flopped to the side almost lifelessly.

Natasha could barely see clearly anymore. Dirt and blood covered her face and body.

She struck Yelena again. She was panting. They both were. Yelena’s breathing was quiet and uneven.

Her hands pried the knife out of Yelena’s weak grip, and raised the blade with both hands up.

She breathed out, her arms up.

And then she froze at what she saw standing in front of her.

Yelena was still alive, her head moving side to side, too weak to express her pain. She wondered why Natasha hadn’t killed her yet.

Natasha plunged the knife back into the dirt, and removed herself from Yelena’s body, her eyes not leaving the man who has disembarked a motorcycle, and stood watching the two of them.

The man who held his hands up cautiously, looking at her apprehensively but not cruelly. His metal arm made a scraping noise as he lifted them.

Yelena propped herself up, gazing at the silent interaction occurring. Natasha couldn’t stop her mouth from opening at the sight of him.

James Buchanan Barnes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so Natasha finally got to interact with yelena and it didn't go all that great lmao. ive changed yelena's backstory a little, because i think it'd get a little complicated if i did what her history in the comics is. Plus their relationship wouldn't work here unless they knew each other in the red room. so now they're both beaten bloody and suddenly the winter soldier himself has shown up! im sure you have a lot of questions lol ;). Next chapters is going to be calmer for once, and focused on these charaters giving you some answers. Hope you enjoyed!!


	6. Part 6

Natasha’s fingers pinched down on the bridge of her nose, her head leaned back. She let out a small gasp and winced with the pain, then closed her mouth to avoid blood spilling into her mouth.

Bucky continuously threw glances at her, and then back to the road, until the point where Natasha finally acknowledged him, staring at him for a short while. He didn’t look at her.

Then her nose prickled in pain and she felt blood falling from her nose and she leaned back again.

She ran through an assessment of her injuries. Bruises all over her, both from defending herself against Yelena and being thrown out of a moving car. A deep cut practically screamed for her attention on her bicep. Her breath choked up from being strangled, and she felt like her throat had been compressed permanently. Her stomach slash seemed relatively okay. For her standards at the least.

Yelena seemed worse off. It’d taken Natasha and Bucky a while to drag her into the jeep. She seemed floating in and out of consciousness, groaning in pain and barely walking. She’d be fine, Natasha told herself. Yelena was just like her. She’d been punched quite a bit, but she’d heal as fast as Natasha.

Bucky had replaced the shot-out tire with a spare found on the back of the car, and shoved his motorcycle into the back. He’d broken the side mirrors and scraped the handlebars, but he managed to push it in with the help of his non-human arm.

The jeep definitely looked like it had been in a crash. Paint was scraped off, there was a good dent in the front of the car, and an odd stuttering sound rooted in the engine was heard every once in a while. Luckily, since there was virtually no glass on the car, they didn’t have to worry about any cracked windshields or shards on the seats.

He’d also taken the driver’s seat, seeing as Natasha couldn’t have her head straight forward at the moment and Yelena was battling the pain of a practically broken face, lying on her back in the seats behind them, resting up against the motorcycle.

Natasha blinked rapidly, and wiped away blood nearing her top lip.

“Take a right here.”

Her voice was hoarse, and barely discernible over the loud car and the busy street clouded with irritated drivers behind cars they’d found themselves on. The drive from the Opera House back to the warehouse in SoHo would barely take twenty minutes.

Bucky complied silently, turning onto the other street, and trying to drive inconspicuously.

Natasha sneaked small glances at him, studying him. The last time she’d seen him, he’d attempted to kill her on a highway. He’d been covered with goggles and a muzzle, looking like an animal.

Now he seemed softer. Relaxed. She knew since the events at the Triskelion he’d gotten away, escaped HYDRA. She also knew that her teammates were searching for him. And here he was. Calmly driving a battered car, looking…healthier. More human.

He didn’t look like a killer anymore.

“Keep your head up,” Bucky said, not unkindly, having caught her stares. Natasha used the palm of her hand to block her nose, breathing out through her mouth.

“You wanna tell me why you were at the Opera House?” Natasha said with a hyponasal voice.

Bucky kept his eyes on the road, but his face made a wincing movement for just a fraction of a second. Then he shook his head once, but not at her.

Natasha could let it slide for now. The moment they all were inside the empty warehouse that they’d use as a base, she’d get her answers. She hated the feeling of being in the dark like this, especially when even potential allies were keeping secrets.

She wondered if this was how Steve felt when she hid her mission on the overtaken Lemurian Star from him.

Trust. The word echoed through her mind. Could she trust him? She never knew him as a free man. As a solider in a war. She only knew him as a killer with a concealed, tiny soft side that she’d unlocked. Then she knew him as an assassin. Her assassin. And now she didn’t know him at all. She wondered if he even remembered her. He had to, otherwise he wouldn’t have followed her and taken her with him. He hadn’t attempted to hurt her. He’d actually tried to take care of her. His mind had been violated, destroyed, and ripped apart and put together again and again. Like someone had forcibly put puzzle pieces together without considering they might not fit. But now, he’d been free. Free for months, completely alone. Avoiding someone who claimed to be his best friend. Avoiding violence.

Natasha wanted to trust him. She could almost feel herself desperately wanting to trust him.

After another five minutes of silence, with only the common city ambience filling their ears and Natasha’s occasional direction, Bucky parked on the side of building on the street. The building was brown bricks and windows that hid any interior insight with black inner curtains. One window showed thin tendrils spread across the glass, indicating a near broken window. The building looked just slightly unstable, and paint on support columns was peeling.

Outside, dying bushes decorated the base, and the surrounding street was bare. A handful of apartment buildings and stores stood beside and across, but no lights shone save for the blinking streetlights. Despite this, she felt the familiar buzz of life that only existed in huge cities.

Natasha slid out of the car once Bucky had turned off the engine. The blood flow was slowly ceasing in her nose, and she realized she was now able to look straightforward without feeling pain.

Yelena had also clambered out, and once she’d stood upright on the pavement, she blinked rapidly and leaned sideways.

“I don’t need your help.” Yelena snapped when both Natasha and Bucky reached for her. She wrapped her arms around herself and marched onwards.

Natasha and Bucky shared a look of exasperated annoyance for a fleeting moment, then continued walking behind her. They’d all taken all of the weapons in the car, the dress that Natasha’s had worn, and wiped the obvious blood stains off. If someone stole the car in the middle of the night, Natasha didn’t imagine she could care less. Right now, she wanted to heal, and she wanted answers.

The warehouse looked simplistic, abandoned and dying inside. It was structured like an apartment room. They took a rocky, sluggish elevator up to a second floor, in which Yelena craved the wall of to support herself, before entering the actual “home” part of the building.

In here, SHIELD had designed a home base for high level active agents. Since the agency had been dissolved, the place was only now known to the handful of spies and agents who had achieved that rank.

Then Natasha froze as the elevator slowed to a stop. She cursed herself for not realizing this earlier. A few, not many, but a few of those agents had been working for HYDRA. And if HYDRA had worked with the Red Room before, what’s to say they wouldn’t again? And if they knew of this base, they’d know it’d be a place she’d hide out at.

Bucky noticed her hesitation as the doors proceeded to open. His brows furrowed at her, asking the question nonverbally.

“Keep your guard up,” Natasha whispered, looking out at the room as the doors opened. Bucky abided instantly, his eyes darkening, and his fists tightening.

She felt a surge of respect that he’d taken a defensive stance without hesitation. It meant he didn’t consider her an enemy.

The place was definitely decorated like an apartment room. An old pale blue couch with tears revealing the stuffing inside faced a small television. A mini fridge coupled to a counter and a stove stood in the corner, and a large bed faced them on their right. A bathroom was enclosed by a small structure in another corner in front of them.

The wooden floor creaked underneath them, the paint was stripping off and combined with the cold, funny smelling air and the ghostly grey darkness of the room, Natasha’s skin crawled. She’d been here before, but somehow it didn’t seem as uninviting as it did now. Her eyes didn’t need light to focus, relying on her skilled eyesight and memory of the area, and she scrutinized the floor they were on, looking for anything suspicious.

Two lamps and a couple ceiling lights were switched on by Natasha’s hand grazing the light switch on the wall right outside the elevator. The light that filled the room wasn’t warm or inviting, just cheap yellow light that would have to do.

Yelena stumbled off, finally sinking down against a wall, her head rolling side to side. Bucky took several steps forward, still on edge, and eyeing past the furniture for anyone hiding.

A minute passed, and Natasha conclude no one was hiding here. If anyone was spying on them, it was from outside, but with curtained windows and solid brick separating them from the night, they had a reasonably thick veil of protection at the moment. When Natasha let out a sigh of relief, Bucky relaxed.

Yelena didn’t miss their subtle teamwork.

Natasha considered going to the bathroom to wash off the blood on her face, but didn’t dare leaving Bucky and Yelena alone. She knew they wouldn’t kill each other, but she didn’t want anything going wrong. She had to be in control, and if that meant most of her face covered in drying blood, so be it.

When Bucky seated himself on the head of the couch, and Natasha stood with her hands on her hips between him and Yelena, Yelena spoke up.

“So, who’s he?”

Her voice wasn’t hoarse, but it was ragged and seemingly took a lot of effort to utilize.

“Another SHIELD agent?”

Natasha smiled bitterly. “Kind of the opposite.”

Yelena’s hard gaze didn’t leave Bucky.

Natasha sighed audibly, rolling her eyes slightly.

“Bucky.”

Bucky’s soft voice broke through the tension. His expression wasn’t harsh, but it wasn’t friendly either.

Yelena’s eyes narrowed. “Who you work for, Bucky?”

“No one.”

“Who did you work for?”

Bucky froze at that, his chest heaving slightly faster than normal. Yelena’s face morphed into a victorious smug look at one upping him.

“You have a metal arm, and you know who Romanova is. Of course you’ve done some dirty work before,” Yelena continued, raising a brow. “What, did you retire? Too violent or something?”

Natasha bit her lip, shooting a worried look at Bucky, who had tensed up and was now glowering down at Yelena.

“That’s enough,” Natasha told Yelena coldly.

“I don’t listen to you.”

“I don’t care,” Natasha responded, taking a step closer. “We have bigger problems then your asinine attitude.”

Yelena scowled at that, but held her tongue, biting down a remark. Bucky, on the other hand, stepped in beside Natasha, puzzled.

“Problems?”

Natasha hesitated. She still wasn’t sure who to trust. She didn’t trust Yelena. She wasn’t sure about Bucky.

But she knew none of them would side with her enemy. Her shoulders fell, and she told them what she’d been theorizing ever since the fight in the parking garage.

“I think the Red Room has been reactivated.”

Yelena and Bucky fell deadly silent, staring up at her.

His eyes raked her up and down, and his look shifted into one of sorrow.

“What happened to you?” He asked her, calmly, quietly.

What an odd question to ask, Natasha thought to herself. A stranger of a feeling flitted through her veins, like a warm wave through her body. He could’ve asked why she thought this. Or what led her to this theory.

This threw her off for a short moment. Then she cleared her throat, and noticed Yelena had, albeit struggled to, stood up. She still leaned against the wall. Her yellow dress looked more like a red and yellow dress now. Curiosity flirted with her hard look, no matter how hard Yelena tried to hide it.

Natasha gazed directly into Bucky’s eyes. “Do you remember the Triskelion?”

Bucky’s small flinch was almost unnoticeable. But his eyes turning glassy and his bottom lip trembling was something easily caught.

“I try not to,” Bucky whispered. Natasha gazed at him sadly, wondering what had gone down between him and Steve when she knew he was trying to get the chip in.

“I released all the files on SHIELD. I had to,” Natasha told him. Yelena already knew part of the story. “That’s how these people found me. They finally saw my official status. They grabbed me, and took me to Iowa.”

“When did this happen?” Yelena said, finally moving off the wall. Despite her face being covered in blood that had darkened and dried substantially, Natasha could see the cruel look had been wiped from Yelena’s expression.

Natasha looked at her for a moment. “Two days ago. I saw plans for an assassination at the Opera House. So, I got out and drove here. Snuck into the ballet.”

“Who was the target?” Bucky asked.

Natasha crossed her arms. “I thought it was just the head of the Russian’s federal security service. Turns out they shot the lead ballerina too.”

“What?” Yelena demanded. “No, they didn’t.”

Natasha threw her a perplexed look. “What are you talking about?”

“I shot her.”

Bucky and Natasha stared at her, both their jaws dropped.

Yelena shrugged. “Don’t look at me like that. I gotta get paid somehow. This is what those people were training me to do anyway.”

“You killed a dancer,” Natasha said weakly, still shocked.

Yelena looked back at her oddly. “She wasn’t innocent. Cheated her way to the top. Used some really nasty ways to become the lead. Very dark. Guess my client was someone who got cheated out of the role.”

Both Bucky and Natasha were still stunned into silence.

“You didn’t have to make it so flagrant,” Natasha said, shaking her head in disbelief. She glanced at Bucky. “She shot her in the middle of the second act.”

Bucky gazed back at Yelena, like a scolding parent.

“My client wanted a show.”

“Then both targets were killed tonight?” Bucky questioned the two. Natasha nodded, and quickly told him about the explosion that took out the getaway car after Yelena shot the ballerina.

“Well,” Natasha said with finality. She glanced at Yelena worryingly. “That explains half of it.”

“It does,” Yelena commented, nodding, although her expression still didn’t seem friendly. Though, it was hard to see what her expression actually was with all the dried blood.

Then her eyes narrowed at Bucky. “But what I wanna know is who the hell you are.”

Bucky stepped in front of Natasha, and Natasha saw the look of the Winter Soldier in his eyes.

“I’d ask the same question of you.”

Natasha rolled her eyes at the both of them, and verbally stepped in before the two attempted death on the other.

“She was in the Red Room with me.”

Bucky looked at Natasha with confusion, demanding an explanation. She let out a sigh.

“But she escaped, and left.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes at Yelena. “So, she escaped a life of becoming an assassin so she could become an assassin.”

Yelena made a noise that sounded like a growl. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Natasha stood next to Bucky, her arms still tightly crossed. “You said that to me too. Tell me why you left, then.”

Yelena looked back and forth between her and Bucky. “No.”

Natasha couldn’t resist rolling her eyes again. “Regardless. After you left, he was assigned to guard the place for a couple months, and train us.”

Am awkward pause hung after that, and Natasha and Bucky avoided each other’s eyes.

“Why should I trust him?” Yelena asked, with a cruel fake smile.

Bucky moved closer, tilting his head to the side. “I escaped them. Just like you.”

“I never said you had to trust him,” Natasha said to her. “I never said he had to trust you. None of us have to trust each other. But if I’m right, and I am, and the Red Room’s been reactivated, they’re coming after me. To kill me, to use me, I don’t know. And if they’re after me, they’re after you. Maybe even after him as well. There’re still remnants of HYDRA. They worked with the Red Room once. Who’s to say they aren’t working together now?”

Bucky stepped backwards, resuming his seating on the head of the couch, and running a hand through his hair.

Yelena shook her head at Natasha. “The easy thing to do would be to just go our own ways, and survive a little longer. Harder to catch three people separately than three people in a group.”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Natasha said calmly.

“I don’t plan on being your friend.”

“Then be my ally,” Natasha said exasperatedly.

Bucky cleared his throat. “They stand less of a chance if the three of us go after them together.”

Yelena pursed her lips. “What about your agency? Your team? With gods and billionaires and super soldiers?”

Natasha noticed Bucky wince again at that last word.

“SHIELD is gone, you know that.” Natasha said. “And I don’t know where everyone else is. It’s just us.”

Yelena eyed her up and down. “You’re the Black Widow. The best spy in the world. And you need my help.”

Natasha actually let herself smile there. “No, you’re right. I could do this myself. Thing is, I need you under my eye. See, those people, if they catch you, and they would, they might twist your mind out of shape, and use you again as their spy. This time, you wouldn’t escape. That is, unless they don’t kill you themselves. And I already told you I don’t want to kill you.”

Natasha had her now. She didn’t miss the fear flicker in Yelena’s eyes.

“So, what’s your plan?” Yelena said after a long pause. “Just march up to the Red Room, beaten up and defenseless?”

Bucky’s head cocked to the side in agreement. “She has a point. We’re weaponless.”

Yelena threw him a glance, the unfriendliness in her eyes gone.

Natasha’s smile widened. “I’m glad you brought that up. This place is safe place to land for me and a few other agents, in case we’re in serious trouble. Set up like a small home.”

She continued talking as she walked over to the end of the room where the bed stood, and leaned up against the wall, a cocky grin on her face.

“When we’re on our own on a mission, we’d need some place to sleep, to just regenerate, if you get what I mean.”

She turned her head to the wall, where a rectangular cut in the wall lay. She pushed it gently, and the piece folded out. A secret keypad revealed itself. She typed in a code that most of the warehouses for spies used. The numbers corresponding to the letters in the SHIELD acronym, plus her codename as a SHIELD agent. Any SHIELD agent with their own code could access this.

“But there’s also something else we’d need to restock on, don’t you think?”

Natasha pressed enter on the keypad. In an instant, about half of the wall creaked loudly, and broke apart from the wall, sliding to the side and revealing a storage space, lit by blue lights, and showcasing handguns, revolvers, machine guns, rifles, sniper guns, rounds and rounds of bullets, grenades, knives, modern bows and several sheaths of arrows, and so much more. All displayed beautifully.

Natasha leaned against the wall with a smug expression, while Bucky and Yelena sauntered over to the display with their mouths open. Natasha watched an actual soft smile spread across Bucky’s face. He glanced at Natasha. Her smugness melted into a genuine smile, oddly pleased at seeing him anything other than hurt, scared or angry.

“You wanna hear my plan now?” Natasha said with an eyebrow raised at Yelena, who was reaching for a silver handgun.

Yelena loaded her gun and cocked it, grinning as well.

“Fire away.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! So sorry this took longer than usual. Had a little writer's block, since this chapter is very relaxed compared to the others. Anyway, we got a lot more answers, more context for certain characters. I promise that although you still might have questions, they will have answers, just be patient ;) thank you for reading, feedback is always appreciated!


	7. Part 7

_“—is being branded a terror attack in Russia while American authorities cannot say what exactly has occurred at the Metropolitan Opera House. What we do know is the Director of the FSB_ _Alexander Bortnikov and Yvonne Evans, the principal dancer for this show have been killed. The Director of the CIA is currently in the ICU. For now, we turn to Ted Rowling for information at the scene.”_

_“It’s absolute chaos outside the Met right now, with thousands of people stranded on the street. We haven’t yet been informed of any fatalities but we do know multiple people have been taken to the hospital for injuries. The parking garage has been blocked off for unknown reason. Police are trying to contain everyone but there’s a mob of folks who just want to go home. I have Eliza Morgan here with me. Can you talk us through what happened?”_

A young, college aged, blonde next to the reporter, leaned into the microphone, pushing her flyway hairs out of sight.

_“Yeah it was just so scary, the ballerina just fell onto the ground and there was blood everywhere and I thought at first it was part of the ballet but everyone started screaming and running and people were getting trampled, and it was so horrifying. We were all outside and suddenly there was this huge bang and I saw this explosion on the street. People were running everywhere and now no one can go home. I’ve never been a witness to something like this. I really just want to go home now.”_

_“Thank you, Eliza. Back to you, Christiane.”_

_“What we do know now is that officials have confirmed weapons were found inside the Met, and that they’re prime suspects escaped the scene. Stay tuned for more updates tonight.”_

The sound of CNN’s logo closing off the report was cut off by Natasha pressing mute on the channel, and leaning back in her seat.

“They have suspects already,” Bucky commented, pacing by the television set. “You think they caught any of us?”

“Not me,” Yelena said, her fingers toying with the metal of her gun, fortunately with the safety on. She sat on the top of the couch, one leg dangling behind it and the other resting on the cushions. “I had any cameras taken care of.”

Natasha snapped her fingers, realizing where she’d screwed up. “Parking garage. They’ll have me from tapes in the parking garage.”

“You were in the garage?” Yelena asked, turning her head towards Natasha. “They closed that off…”

Natasha had wondered about telling the two of them everything. She’d kept Norway a secret, and the torture and escape in the warehouse were dampened. And she didn’t trust either of them 100%. You can’t put all the cards on the table when you don’t know what everyone actually knows.

“I saw you,” Bucky interrupted her thoughts, nodding slowly. “Chasing someone. I was going to go after you but police were already going in and I…I couldn’t…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Natasha broke in brusquely, understanding what he meant. “They closed the garage off because there’s a body in there with the gun used on the car that exploded.”

Yelena’s head lifted, a single eyebrow lifted. “Who?”

“Don’t know,” Natasha responded. “But he had two ‘R’s burned onto his neck. And when I had him pinned, he used my gun to kill himself.”

Yelena’s eyes narrowed, and Bucky stopped pacing.

“If they’re killing themselves to avoid getting caught, that means there’s a damn number of them,” Bucky said. “And they know something no one else can’t.”

Natasha stood up abruptly. “I’m gonna go wash off.” She found Bucky’s eyes, and nodded at Yelena. “Make sure she doesn’t steal my stuff and take off?”

Yelena glared at Natasha as she grabbed a suit from the open armory of weapons, and left to the bathroom. She turned, rolling her eyes, and noticed Bucky leaned up against the wall, arms crossed and staring at her.

Her lip curled. “You got a problem?”

Bucky shook his head once, the ghost of a small smirk on his face. “Nope.”

“Then why are you staring at me like that?”

“I’m not.”

Yelena’s jaw clenched. Bucky’s look hardened.

It took about half an hour to scrub off the dried blood on Natasha’s body. She’d been forced to rip and peel off her clothes from her body, and some parts of the fabric had even sunk into her wounds. The shower was cold and had a weak showerhead, making the process painfully long. Her fingernails were dirtied and near impossible to clean completely spotless. A sharp sting flooded through her nerves when the cold water hit her nose and her various cuts, but most of them had already begun to seal up. The cut on her stomach had already closed up and begun fading into a scar. She also let her hair down, which was stringy and stiff, from hairspray and blood alike. Her makeup blended with water and blood, and for a second the stream of water turned into a dark red, near purple color. Her eyes burned from mascara in her sclera.

Natasha stood there, letting the cold, cheap water flush away the fights of the night. Minute by minute her natural skin tone came back into the light, and the harsh violent slashes faded into lightly tinted red cuts. After they’d all admired the weapons, she’d informed the two that their next step would have to be confirming her theory. The three of them would have to have undeniable proof that the Red Room was an active operation again. She didn’t doubt herself, but she couldn’t continue in the best way possible without knowing for sure.

She pondered again telling her coworkers. Surely, Tony, Steve, Clint…They could all aid them, probably end the fight sooner. Clint would be by her side in an instant. But Natasha didn’t want to bring him out of his…vacation. None of their teammates, the Avengers, none of them knew about Clint’s real, concealed family, the one he rarely could see and play with and be just human with. She couldn’t drag him out of his peace to fight her fight.

That was the truth. This was Natasha’s fight. This mission belonged to her. Yelena and Bucky deserved a part of the action too, which is mostly why she let them team with her.

She preferred working alone.

But she knew that her passion for vengeance on those people, that it existed in Yelena and Bucky, and she couldn’t rob them of that satisfaction. Of finally seeing the people who cut them into shape destroyed.

She was selfish. And she didn’t want saving. She didn’t want Tony sweeping onto the scene in the Iron Man suit to save her ass. She could do this alone. She had to. She was still the Black Widow. The best damn spy in the world.

And then there was Steve. Natasha had seriously considered finding him and Sam. She could do it. She could find them. She was sure that he and Sam would stand beside her without question. And when he saw Bucky with her…

No.

Natasha shook her head. She couldn’t do that to either of them. That was Bucky’s choice. When Bucky was ready, he would find Steve.

Natasha turned off the shower and stepped out, grabbing a thin towel. She dried off her body in minutes, and rubbed the towel through her hair. She slid into the suit she’d brought inside with her. She winced when the fabric pinched her neck, but it’d have to do.

Natasha turned her gaze to the mirror. Mascara ran down her face, her hair was still cold and wet and started staining her suit, and bruises on her face has started forming. She grabbed pieces of toilet paper and wiped off the mascara until her face looked slightly more normal. Then she let out a sight, brushed a few wet strands of hair to the side and left the bathroom.

Her entrance back into the room didn’t seem to change much. Yelena was peering into the display of guns, her fingers brushing past the metal of Barrett REC7 firearm. Bucky was on the couch, elbows on his knees and gazing at the television, which was still showcasing the news.

Natasha nodded at Yelena, who abandoned admiring the guns and stalked into the bathroom for her shower.

With the slam of the door, and the realization that Yelena and Bucky hadn’t killed each other yet out of pure annoyance, Natasha let her shoulders fall as she crossed her arms to gaze at Bucky from behind.

He was transfixed on the screen in front of him, leaned forward in his seat like he was enthralled by a suspenseful movie.

Natasha moved quietly to not disturb him, and swung one leg over the end of the couch, seating herself on the arm of the couch and wrapping her arms around her knees.

Bucky looked up from the screen, and she saw the ends of his mouth twitch into a small smile.

“Hey,” Bucky said quietly.

“Hey,” Natasha replied, and she was struck for a moment how soft her voice sounded, and the way the tips of her lips lifted when he smiled at her.

She glanced at the screen and back to him. “You enjoying the news?”

Bucky’s eyes brightened. “It’s just…you see everything so clearly it’s amazing…”

Natasha couldn’t stop her smile from widening as she watched him gush about the quality of the television screen. She watched him grin as he talked about the people on TV before her own smile faded, when she understood what she was about to put him through.

Bucky caught her serious expression mid-sentence and paused, looking up at her in confusion.

Natasha sighed. “I’m sorry I’m dragging you into this mess.”

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t apologize. It’s a nice break from being alone.”

Natasha watched his expression droop slightly. “What’ve you been up to?”

He fell silent for a moment, and turned his body, pulling his legs up onto the cushions to face her. “I went to a museum. And there was this board… about…me. And I’m trying to remember these things they wrote about that happened me and I just can’t…”

Natasha frowned, unable to truly understand what that could feel like.

“Captain America was my best friend.” Bucky continued, his face wrinkling. “I’m trying but I can’t…”

“Hey, listen to me,” Natasha said calmly, leaning forward and gazing into Bucky’s wretched expression. “You can’t feel guilty about any of that.”

He grimaced. “I know, it’s just…It’s just hard.”

Natasha ran a hair through her hair, unsticking the strands from her cheeks and let her hands fall and wrap around her body. “I can’t imagine it would be easy.”

She’d planned a monologue about healing and moving forward, should he begin to break down but somehow it didn’t feel genuine anymore.

The door to the bathroom opened suddenly and Yelena emerged, hair in a messy knot and dressed in a similar suit to Natasha’s. Her face was cleaner, but her nose was clearly broken, with a cut on the bridge of her nose, her cheeks and her lips.

She stopped at the door, staring at Bucky and Natasha before she dropped her tattered yellow dress on the floor and moved her gaze.

Yelena rolled up her sleeves and stood firmly in front of them. “So. How are we gonna catch one of these people?”

Natasha rose, tilting her head to the side. “Catch?”

“We need proof that your theory is true. Let’s get it.”

Natasha blinked, surprised that someone had thought exactly what she’d considered. Maybe not that surprising, considering their similar upbringing.

“If they’re trained like you two,” Bucky said, shaking his head. “They’re gonna be like ghosts. You have a plan for this?”

“Yeah,” Natasha said. “We’re not gonna look for them.”

She glanced at Yelena, who was actually grinning. As if she’d read Natasha’s mind.

Natasha looked back at Bucky. “They’re gonna find us.”

***                                  

Yelena slipped on a pair of sunglasses at one of the kiosks on the ground floor in Manhattan Mall. She glanced at the side mirror that hung on the wall of the kiosk, gazing at herself, and tilting her head side to side.

“What do you think?” Yelena asked sultry-like at the female seller.

“The shape is perfect for your head shape, obviously,” the seller replied. “Triangular is best for you.”

Yelena looked at the mirror again, pretending to admire herself. She used a hand to frame her face as if she was modelling. Her eyes, meanwhile, located Natasha, who was in the coffee shop at the other end behind her, typing something on an iPad. Natasha lifted her head, but she didn’t look at Yelena.

Yelena took off the sunglasses, and handed them back. She put a hand on her hip, and winked. “I’ll come back for them.”

Then she was off, not risking a spare glance at Bucky, who was browsing jackets in an Eddie Bauer store on the floor above them.

None of them were hiding. They’d spent the night alternating sleep and guard duty, healing for the night. In the morning, Bucky went to a shop on the block, buying cheap shirts and jeans for Yelena and Natasha, and makeup. Once the two women had concealed their wounds and looked more normal, less like they’d been beaten up, and covered their suits and weapons with large shirts and bootcut jeans, they went off to Manhattan Mall. A quarter of an hour drive to a massively busy shopping center where they’d definitely attract attention from anyone specifically looking for them. They wore no disguises. Bucky wore a jacket, but the metal replacing his left hand was still visible. If you stared long enough, you’d see the imprint of a gun handle in Yelena’s jeans, and Natasha made no attempt hiding her red hair. She worried for a moment about people noticing her, but a pair of fake eyeglasses and her plain outfit made her invisible.

Natasha pulled out a cheap burner phone and held it to her ear. The impressive display at SoHo didn’t just offer weapons and a few suits.

“Anything?” Natasha said, and waited for their responses through her earpiece.

“Don’t talk unless it’s an emergency,” Yelena muttered back, saving her suspicious move by flipping her hair back while speaking. Natasha blinked in surprise at the response, but let it slide.

Bucky let his eyes flash occasionally, keeping his head bowed down with his cap. After perusing men’s clothes for some time, he left the store, pacing slowly down the floor towards the other end. He threw a small glance down to the ground floor, seeing Yelena strut in the same direction.

Natasha continued typing utter nonsense on the iPad. It was mostly intended for more professional and discreet SHIELD work, but it could double as a common electronic. She looked like a typical writer drinking a needlessly complicated coffee in a coffee bar. Her eyes stole quick glances around her, trying to catch anyone who would’ve been staring at her.

“We’ve been at this for half an hour, you sure this’ll work?” Bucky said as he rounded a corner.

Natasha had indeed wondered if it’d work. She knew for a fact that they knew where she was in general. They knew she was in Manhattan. They knew she was alone. She knew they’d try to find her again.

So, she made herself as accessible as possible without publicly compromising herself. It was a risk, but she needed more intel.

Minutes trickled into an hour as Natasha continued frantically typing. This didn’t bother her. She was once on a surveillance mission that lasted three days. She didn’t even get the guy. Bucky and Yelena gave her occasional updates on their location. Once every ten or so minutes Yelena would step outside the mall, go around the block and back inside, just to really push for their luck.

“Seven o’clock,” Bucky suddenly said, locating a man leaning against the bannister on the third floor looking down at Natasha. “Third floor.”

Natasha turned off her iPad and held it up, using it as a crappy reflection tool to look behind her. “Can’t see ‘em.”

Bucky started moving, calmly ascending onto the second floor.

“Yelena where the hell are you?” Natasha muttered into her earpiece. “Yelena?”

“He’s moving,” Bucky said with a worried tone. The man had started walking away from his spot, and Bucky caught the unmistakable handle of a gun in his pocket when his jacket fluttered out of place.

“Don’t do anything yet,” Natasha said, slightly louder than she should be. A couple sitting beside her looked at her oddly.

“He’s gonna disappear if we don’t go now,” Bucky responded with a hard voice.

“What the hell is going on?” Yelena’s voice cracked through in Natasha’s ears.

“We have someone,” Natasha said hurriedly, rushing away from the coffee shop, her iPad under her shoulder. “Where were you?”

“Outside, out of range,” Yelena said, with an aura of as if it was obvious.

“He’s gone,” Bucky groaned, stopping short in his tracks when he reached the third floor and couldn’t see the man anymore.

Yelena marched up to Natasha, not even caring about being discreet. Natasha tried to look away as if she’d bumped into a stranger, but Yelena hooked her arm through Natasha’s and smiled as if they were a pair of best friends on a shopping date. Natasha slid into the role in seconds.

“This is a mess.”

“Maybe if you’d told us you’d gone out of range again—”

“Shouldn’t you know it’s always at the ten-minute mark?” Yelena snarled. Natasha rolled her eyes.

Natasha glanced above her. “What did he look like?”

“Tall,” Bucky responded, leaning over the same bannister the man had been and trying to locate him. “Dark blue jacket and jeans. Dark hair.”

Yelena unhooked her arm. Natasha glanced at her confusingly but Yelena had already started walking away, towards the exit ahead of them.

“Where the hell is she off to?” Bucky muttered, watching her stride away from a bewildered Natasha.

Natasha’s fists tightened.

“Yelena, shockingly, earpieces are used for discreet communication about present occurrences,” Natasha said through gritted teeth, glaring at her retreating figure. “You have anything to say?”

“Shut up. He’s outside,” Yelena spoke bluntly. “I’m tailing him.”

Natasha resisted the urge to facepalm herself, while Bucky let out an exaggerated sigh.

“People are staring…”

“I know,” Natasha told him. “Get out of here, I’ll go after her. Rendezvous on the corner of 34th street.”

Bucky took off, ignoring the concerned stares from people at him.

Natasha felt her heartbeat in her chest. If people started noticing her again, recognizing her again…

She followed after Yelena, who had since left the mall.

Yelena was in pursuit, a slow one at that. Both she and her target were forced to move leisurely, both because of the massive crowd and the fact that people were already suspicious.  

She had their guy. If he wasn’t watching them, he wouldn’t have run from her.

Yelena followed him down the street, a syringe slipping down arm and into her wrist. The three of them each carried one. All it would look like was a simple faint. A quick bout of unconsciousness while they drove back to the warehouse.

Yelena slipped past gangs of shoppers and families with ease. A sense of cockiness made her grin. She could do this in her smile. The man was fast, but Yelena was catching up. He threw a glance behind his shoulder at her, and turned a corner and ran through a street.

He was heading for the subway.

Yelena almost had him. Her pace quickened. A few trees near the stairs to the underground subway would conceal them enough. Her fingers gripped the syringe, and her hand raised as the man passed by the trees and neared the stairs.

Then the man collapsed, falling to the ground unconscious. Yelena stared at his body, bewildered, and Bucky stepped out from behind the trunk of a tree, his syringe in his hand.

Yelena bit her lip, glowering out. “He was mine, screw you.”

Bucky pulled the syringe out of the man’s neck and shoved it in his pockets. “Maybe don’t run off on your own mission when we’re supposed to be working together.” He pressed his fingers to his ear. “I have him.”

“ _I_ had him,” Yelena muttered under her breath.

***

“We had a plan,” Natasha said, jabbing her fingers at Yelena, the other hand on her hip.

“You didn’t have a plan,” Yelena growled. “You had a guess.”

“You can’t run off in the middle of something like that—”

“Well we got him, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, along with the attention of Manhattan shoppers,” Bucky said with vexation, glaring down at Yelena. “The day after a terror attack.”

Yelena faced him with an incredulous look. “Well maybe if you hadn’t lost him in the mall, I wouldn’t have had to chase him.”

Bucky’s face contorted, filling with anger. Yelena turned back to Natasha.

“I don’t see the issue,” Yelena hissed. She gestured to the unconscious man, who they’d tied up on a chair back in the warehouse after they’d driven back to SoHo. He’d been carrying three guns, a radio, which they shoved under a couch cushion, and pictures of Natasha and Yelena. Disturbingly, the pictures were of the women as children in the Red Room, which had only confirmed Natasha’s theory.

“You know what it’s actually pretty simple so you might understand it,” Natasha snapped back.

“Oh really?” Yelena said, sneering. “We’re not a team, Romanova. Your supposed ‘plan’ was to catch anyone looking for us. Maybe you throw this tantrum with the Avengers, but here we had one goal, and we did that.”

“You’re right we’re not a team,” Natasha responded. “My teammates actually listen and communicate with me.”

Yelena held up her thumb and pointer finger and rubbed them together. She gave Natasha a fake smile and spoke mockingly. “Oh, I’m so sorry, well here’s that violin for you.”

Natasha felt her fingernails digging into her skin as Yelena left their confrontation, heading to the bathroom.

Bucky faced her, shock on his face. “Was she like this in…you know…”

“Yeah,” Natasha said, her voice quieter. “She hated me there too. I don’t know why she left the Room but…she’d lost a few fights, with me especially, and when you start losing too much, they…well…they don’t see your potential anymore and they kill you. She was good, she’s really good but she’s…intense.”

“That’s one word for it,” Bucky said under his breath. “We still sure she doesn’t plan on killing us in our sleep and taking off?”

“No,” Natasha said honestly. “But this is her only chance at revenge with those people. She won’t give that up because she hates me.”

Natasha wondered if she’d turn out like Yelena if she hadn’t met Clint. If she hadn’t joined SHIELD. If all she could do to survive was kill and be alone, she couldn’t help but understand that the dark, lonely personality of Yelena’s would resurface.

She switched her focus to the man they’d tied up. Surely, the Red Room would be on them now, now that they’d gotten one of their own. Natasha would have to get her information fast.

“You have anything ready for him?” Bucky said, breaking her concentration. Natasha nodded once, a few dialogues in her head already planned.

“Some things. If he doesn’t start talking right away, I’ll make him.”

Yelena exited the bathroom, carrying a cup of water.

“How much longer you think—”

Bucky’s question was cut off by Yelena throwing the water into the man’s face, who coughed and spluttered, breaking out of his unconsciousness.

“Or he’ll wake up now,” Bucky said instead, stepping back to sit on the couch. Yelena walked up to Natasha.

“Ten minutes. If he doesn’t start talking—”

“I got it,” Natasha sighed, pushing her away. Yelena leaned up against the wall near Bucky.

Natasha rubbed her forehead and straightened up, crossing her arms and waiting for the man to wake up.

He struggled for a moment, and Natasha let him take in his surroundings before he found her eyes.

He smirked at her. “You won’t get a word out of me.”

She cocked her head to the side, catching his British accent.

Then Natasha smiled, and pulled out a long, serrated knife from her suit. They’d shed their common garb when they’d made it back to the warehouse. She raised an eyebrow at him as if to say “oh really?”

“Settle in,” she replied coldly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! i was orginally gonna combine the plot of next chapter's with this (which has more dark elements btw) but it got too long and i realized i need a little more time for yelena so i separated it into two. Hopefully next chapter will be out much sooner. i really enjoyed writing bucky and nat in a soft, sweet way here, and im really liking their relationship. you can interpret it how you wish :) im also hoping to develop bucky and yelena's relationship into a sibling hate one, so thats on my agenda lol. and as annoying as yelena might be, i think everyone can understand why she's like this, and i'm hoping to dive more into it later. regardless, things are going to really start to pick up soon! stay tuned, and please comment!! feedback is as always appreciated


	8. Part 8

Natasha and the man had held an unspoken, hard eye contact for several seconds by this point. If he was trained like she’d been, then he knew all her tricks. If not, she had a massive advantage. But she couldn’t believe they would’ve sent someone so inexperienced out to find them and risk getting caught.

Natasha nodded her head up at him. “You know who I am?”

The man narrowed his vision, and Natasha didn’t move her gaze. What his words didn’t tell her his eyes would.

His eyes flickered down to the floor, and over to the couch, then to Yelena and Bucky, who were standing side by side and staring him down.

“Where are my things?” he said in a low voice. Natasha’s mouth twitched into a small smile.

“I asked you a question. You have a picture of me in your jacket pocket,” She continued, her voice cold and flat. She leaned down, closer. “Why were you here to kill me?”

The man scoffed. “I wasn’t there to kill you I was there to watch—”

He froze, and looked away when Natasha’s grin spread at her first piece of information. A common tactic. Ask for the answer of a complicated, wrong question, then get the reassuring answer to one she didn't even have to ask.

Natasha cleared her throat and pulled up a second chair, sitting down in front of him. “Why is the Red Room watching me and Belova?”

The man’s brows pulled together about a micro inch for just a second, almost unnoticeable.

Natasha leaned back. That was confusion. That was the look of puzzlement.

“Why is the Red Room watching me?” Natasha repeated, her voice hard.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, practically spitting in her face. “Give me my things back.”

Natasha glanced at the couch, then at Bucky and Yelena. Yelena met her eyes, and raised an eyebrow, nodding slightly.

As if she was giving Natasha some sort of permission.

Natasha took that to mean she had all the time she needed. They both knew the tactic to use now.

“These things of yours must be pretty important,” Natasha spoke with a casual tone.

Silence fell after that, and Natasha didn’t cower away from his glower. The trick here was to make them uncomfortable with a blanket of quietness. Force them to do or say something, anything.

“Not a big talker, huh?” Natasha commented after a full minute. “I expect that from expendable agents.”

The man didn’t answer but Natasha easily saw more confusion swim in his expression. She could tell this man wasn’t going to explain everything going on, even if he wanted to. But he had to know something. A place. A name. A face. A mission.

She shrugged. “Worthless agents. You don’t know anything, do you? They don’t tell you much anyway.”

The man’s arms tightened in the rope. “They told me enough.”

She let her smirk grow just a little as she leaned back, and motioned at him to continue.

“Tell me.”

The man stared at her, his eyes flickering back and forth. “Seems like you already know.”

“Well, I don’t know who you are,” Natasha responded, her demeanor unchanging. “What’s your name?”

The man’s expression slipped into a frown. Natasha straightened up in her seat.

“What?” the man croaked. Natasha could feel her grin fading as she realized what type of agent he might be. Instinctively, her head turned and her eyes met Bucky. Someone who would understand what something like this meant.

Natasha turned back to the man, whose expression was void and whose skin was paler.

He was scared.

“We're more similar than i thought, huh? I know what its like to not remember any of it,” she spoke quietly, though not with any semblance of kindness. The man’s face twitched. “I get that part. They corrupt you so far you don’t even remember what you don’t remember. You lose yourself in the mission.”

The man looked anywhere but at her.

Natasha went in for an emotional kill. “I understand. But you don’t. They’ll have no use for you now. Tell me what I need to know and you’ll be safe from them.”

The man let out a choke mixed with laughter. “You? You think I’d trust you? I have what I need, and that’s it. You think you’re winning, don’t you? You know nothing. Soon you’ll be just like me.”

Then he made a ragged, loud inhaling sound from his mouth and spit in her face.

“Let me go. They might be more merciful of your friend if you behave now.”

Natasha gingerly wiped away the spit on her cheek, slowly, with the sleeve on her arm. If she had the tiniest fraction of sympathy for what this man had been through, it was out the window now.

What if it was Bucky?

The miniscule moral voice in her head that she often ignored whispered all too loudly.

This was the Winter Soldier, a form of him, sitting tied up in front of her. The hollow shell of a man, beaten and broken until he didn’t even know his name. He knew his mission and nothing else.

But she had no time. She didn’t know this man. She didn’t know anyone who could break him out of the brainwashing.

So, Natasha stood up and pulled out a long knife with a serrated blade out of a sheath on the fabric of her right leg. She gripped the hilt and held it in front of his menacing face.

No, she wouldn’t behave.

She met his glare, and started pacing around him.

“When I was in the Red Room, there were twenty-seven other girls with me. We were all competing for the same rank. But only one could win. Sometimes, they’d grab you in the night with a few others, take you to the woods in the winter and leave you there. The first one back to the Room could stay. The ones who didn’t make it back died in the cold. The weaker ones, the ones who come home after you, were killed. Year by year, our numbers thinned. Other times, they’d let you fight another girl. The loser gets death. And if they saw you as the weakest one, at any point in time you were killed in an instant. No chance to prove yourself again. Always on edge.”

Natasha faced him again, and bended down, her hands pulling the man’s right-hand thumb aside from his other fingers. She could feel him trembling, even though he tried hiding it.

“You fail. You die. You’re weak. You die. You screw up, you’re beaten. Sometimes you die then too.”

She lifted the knife, and pressed the metal against the base of his thumb. His breath was quickening, and he tried dragging his hand away but the ropes were too tight. He was powerless.

“You’re gonna tell me everything you know. Right now.”

The man looked deep into her eyes. His lips pressed together.

Natasha mentally informed her moral voice that did give him the chance.

Before she lifted the knife and sliced through his hand, the severed thumb falling to the ground.

Blood spurted out just as he screamed.

The chair rocked back and forth as he writhed in pain, shaking violently. His face contorted within an instant into showing pure agony and rage.

Natasha didn’t even flinch.

It took about a minute before his screams faded into a tortured sobbing sound.

Natasha positioned the knife on his pointer finger, right next to the stump overflowing with blood.

“Still nothing?” She asked, giving him a mockingly innocent expression. His expression was murderous.

Mere seconds passed of silence before it was filled with screams with an even higher pitch, as Natasha cut through his pointer finger. The sound of the blade moving through flesh and bone was skin crawling for any normal person.

Natasha grabbed the man’s chin, holding his face up so he was forced to stare directly at her.

Her fingers pressured inwards, pinching the skin on his cheeks before she roughly let go.

“The weaker ones are killed,” Natasha repeated, her voice dark and harsh. “You think they’ll have a use for someone who can no longer hold a gun?”

The man’s sobs morphed into a short, horrid laugh. “I have one hand left.”

Natasha expected that remark. She’d let him believe he had the better of her for a moment. A false sense of winning. Of course he was trained with both hands; so was she.

His chuckle stopped abruptly when Natasha placed the blade on the middle of his left thumb.

“You’re right,” Natasha said, pressing the knife down ever so slightly. The man’s amusement disappeared. A bead of blood escaped from the blade’s press. “Should we make it even?”

She pulled the blade back and forth, slitting his skin open slowly, and finally she raised it into the air.

“Stop!” He finally screamed.

Natasha froze, the knife still hovering. Her eyebrow raised, watching him choke when the pain ceased. Blood still poured out of the two stubs on his hand, spilling and splashing onto the floor.

Yelena, who had appeared fairly bored in the last few minutes, focused her attention back on the man again.

“Who do you work for?” Natasha demanded when his panting and sobbing quelled.

“I don’t know.”

She pressed the blade inside his cut in seconds.

“I don’t know!” he yelled again. “I don’t know! She’s…”

“She?” Natasha echoed, stepped back, pulling the knife away. Her jaw clenched, hard, and the memory of the white woman in Norway was a display in her mind. There had to be a connection.

“They told me to watch you, that’s it. ‘Don’t get caught’, that was it,” he said weakly. “But she’s the boss, I don’t know who she is. She gives the orders and I was supposed to meet back with her at LaGuardia in two hours to report back—”

“Where in LaGuardia?” Natasha interrupted harshly, this time holding the tip of the blade right on his Adam’s apple.

“I don’t know,” he answered quickly, the terror in his voice rising. “She’d tell me where when I got there.”

Natasha wasn’t satisfied. She wanted names, she wanted solid proof that what she suspected was true. All she had a location to meet some woman.

“Romanova.”

Natasha moved her gaze from the man and stalked back to where Yelena and Bucky stood.

Yelena gave her a hard look.

“We need to leave now.”

“And go to LaGuardia?” Natasha asked with a tone of sarcasm. Their voices were both quiet. They couldn’t hide every word from the man, but if they spoke quietly enough, he wouldn’t catch everything.

“Yes,” Bucky spoke up. Natasha looked back and forth between the two of them. They weren’t looking at each other, but they still stood closer together, like a team.

Natasha shook her head. “We don’t have anything to go on. It’s too risky. We’d be infiltrating one of the biggest airports in one of the biggest cities in the world. We don’t even know if officals know we were at the Opera House. The moment cameras recognize us at the airport, it’s over.”

“We do know a meet point for someone who’s the boss of all of this. That’s more than we’ve ever had,” Bucky argued calmly. “You’re still an agent. And neither Yelena or I are on anyone’s official database.”

“And even if officials are looking for us,” Yelena added. “Are you forgetting what we are? What we can do? You know damn well we’re good enough to pull this off.”

Bucky smiled softly. “If there’s anyone who could sneak into a massive American airport, it’s you. Aren’t you the best spy in the world?”

Natasha felt a short wave of warmth flood through her, but she didn’t smile, and shook her head again. “If we get caught, all of our names are made famous from this. We’re arrested for trying to sneak into an airport. What do you think people will think of us carrying weapons into LaGuardia? What the FBI could think?”

“Romanova give it up,” Yelena replied coldly. “You’re the one who dragged us both into this and now you’re chickening out? Because you might get caught?”

“I didn’t know we’d have to sneak into an airport,” Natasha snapped, her voice loud. “Unlike you two, my face is everywhere. My information, my story, is everywhere. And you both want me to waltz into one of the places on this planet where people from every part of this world can be. You wanna know what happened to me before these people grabbed me in Norway? I was recognized. Two kids, just a young couple. They knew me. They talked to me. And they paid the price with their life. The person who grabbed me ended up killing them. I’m not a Red Room spy anymore, Yelena. I’m a celebrity and I hate it. And I need to take that into consideration for every fucking move I make!”

Yelena and Bucky both fell quiet at that. Bucky looked slightly shocked, eyes wide. Yelena had a look of what appeared to be anger and pity at the same time.

Natasha looked away from the two of them, regretting her embarrassing momentary loss of control. She didn’t feel an ounce of regret for her words, though.

“So, what do we do with him?” Yelena asked after an uncomfortable silence.

Natasha faced the man, who was still panting and groaning in pain, looking back up at her with pure hatred. A small pool of blood surrounded a leg of the chair.

Then shadow flashed through the room. Through the window at the far end of the room, with no curtains. A shadow that didn’t go away, that darkened the inside of the warehouse.

Natasha suddenly felt all her muscles stiffen. Her feet managed to drag her to a window in the center of the wall, a sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. The window that was already cracked, weak, where someone could easily look in if they got past the curtains. Someone could easily see a torture taking place. She vaguely heard Bucky and Yelena asking her what she was doing. Then Natasha ripped the curtains back, and gazed into what had caused a dark shadow to fall into their room.

On the building on the other side of the street, a dark-haired woman with a concealed face stood on the roof. The streetlights on either side had been smashed and consequently turned off. The woman, dressed in a white coat, was pointing a sniper rifle directly at her.

Natasha instinctively took several steps back. It was...her. The woman in Norway. The one she never got to see properly.

The seconds that crashed down to the woman pressing the trigger felt like an eternity. Then the woman fired.

Natasha winced and closed her eyes, throwing her arms above her head and waited for the bullet to strike her.

The crashing sound of glass shattering and something scraping against metal, combined with no pain made Natasha open her eyes, confused.

Bucky stood right in front of her, his metal hand having blocked the bullet.

“We need to leave. Now,” Bucky told her, dragging her from the window. Natasha couldn’t speak. She couldn’t leave. She was so close. The answers she needed, it had to come from that white woman.

Natasha twirled past him, her hands gripping a handgun from the display and loaded it in mere seconds. Yelena had also reached for a weapon, any animosity gone for the moment.

A soft thumping sound reached her ears, and Natasha turned just in time to see the man, still strapped to the chair fall to the side, his eyes dead, blood staining his hair. She sprinted back to the broken window and saw the woman running away on the roof. Natasha squeezed the trigger, shooting at her retreating figure. Three bullets nearly hit her. Then the woman jumped off the roof, and out of sight.

Natasha’s jaw clenched, so hard the sides of her face hurt. She turned to Bucky and Yelena, who watched her intently.

“Load up. And get in the jeep. Now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slightly shorter chapter than usual, but in my mind if i view this as a movie the big second act action scene is coming soon ;) again this was connected to the previous chapter so that's why this is shorter. more darker stuff and tones will come in the later chapters, ive planned this whole plot that actually depressed me for a little. stay patient, and comment if you have any feedback, any comments encourage me more than you know! thank you for reading!


	9. Part 9

Natasha’s first thought had been to climb onto the roofs and run after the white woman. But after the several minutes it took to drag all their gear to the car that had miraculously not been stolen yet, her head ruled over her heart and knew that driving to LaGuardia was the smart thing. The logical thing. She chastened herself for not thinking like a spy earlier.

Something about that strange woman triggered something in her to act irrationally.

With all their weapons stored around the motorcycle still lodged in the back, and some hidden under their civilian garments, Natasha started driving. Yelena had exclaimed shotgun seconds after Natasha ordered them to move, and Bucky leaned in the back by his motorcycle, trying to conceal his expressions of discomfort.

Natasha had estimated a forty-minute drive. Thirty-five if she drove just a dash over the speed limit. Unfortunately, traffic nearing the airport was enough to slow them down to an hour, hour and a half drive. Luckily, however, Natasha recalled that the meetup between the boss and the man they’d held would occur in two hours.

Sitting in traffic at least had a purpose and didn’t look as suspicious as sitting by an airport for an hour and a half.

“That woman had to be the boss, or working for the boss.”

Bucky finally spoke up after about a half hour of silence. They’d left the man dead in the apartment. After Natasha closed up, hiding their evidence, she figured they’d finish the mission, then take care of what would rot in that apartment. That or she’d die in the mission.

“She didn’t shoot me,” Natasha said. The woman had only fired twice. Bucky blocked the first one. The second killed her own agent. This woman, whoever she was, didn’t worry about numbers in her little army. And she was ruthless. Killing her own gave Natasha that information about whatever they were.

Yelena shot a look at her. “She wanted that guy dead.”

“Because he was about to spill, obviously. So, she knows roughly what we know about her,” Natasha added.

“Driving to LaGuardia is a dead end. She’ll have changed the whole plan,” Bucky commented, and Natasha glanced at him through the mirror. It was a broken mirror, but she still found his eyes, giving her a sad look.

Natasha clenched her jaw, knowing he was right. “It’s the only lead we have. And even they don’t show up, we’ll have a reason to stay.”

Bucky and Yelena stared at her, confused, but Natasha kept her eyes on the road. She didn’t want to tell them just yet, in case she was wrong.

A dried, small speck of blood on the steering wheel caught Natasha’s eye. She wondered if it was from now or from two days ago, when she’d picked up Yelena at the Opera House.

That night felt both ages ago and like it had just happened.

Natasha followed signs directing them to the airport. She kept her demeanor cold and calm, but inside her mind raced. This was dangerous, too dangerous. Doing a mission in an airport, her throat felt dry just thinking about it. They barely had the official equipment to go through with it. They had their chosen weapons, a gun that could disable any cameras, a tranquilizer, and several other assorted devices that could be helpful. Natasha had also acquired a facial distortion mask. It wouldn’t change her appearance entirely, but enough for any facial recognition to fail on her. Bucky and Yelena didn’t even technically exist, only their trainers knew that they were still active.

And Steve knew, Steve was looking for him.

Natasha felt the same wave of guilt rush through her every time she thought of Steve. She had no idea where he might be now, yet here his best friend was, on her side and fighting something neither of them knew what could be. She wondered what Steve would think if he found out she lied to him about Bucky.

 _It’s not lying_ , she told herself. _It’s just not telling him._

Her thoughts were broken by Yelena speaking up when they took a turn onto a stretch that would lead them up to the sidewalk by the airport gate entries.

“Here we go, let’s hope to whatever might be up there that no one arrests us for driving up in a beaten car with a bike in the back and guns everywhere.”

Natasha’s finger gripped tightly on the steering wheel. The trick was not to look suspicions.

_They were definitely gonna get caught._

“Stop,” Yelena said abruptly. “Pull up here.”

The suddenness made Natasha slow down on a sidewalk, and she glanced at Yelena with worry.

“Park here. I’ll be back,” Yelena said flatly. Then she stepped out of the jeep while it was still moving, albeit slowly, and stalked off.

Natasha shifted into park and watched her strut away with shock. She looked back at Bucky, who was climbing into the front passenger seat.

“And then there were two,” Natasha muttered. “We should probably prepare for a mission without her. Wanna bet she just decided to run away?”

Bucky let a small smile flash on his face. Then he turned towards her. “Listen. I’m sorry if it seemed like she and I were ganging up on you.”

Natasha blinked rapidly in confusion and met his gaze.

“Neither of us know what it must be like to have everyone know who you are,” he continued, running a hand through his hair. Natasha shifted in her seat.

“You don’t…have to…apologize,” Natasha said awkwardly. “I…overreacted. I wasn’t thinking well. This was the right move. If anything, I should say sorry.”

“And you don’t have to apologize for having emotions,” Bucky said wearily, giving her a sad smile.

Natasha looked away casually. She hated when she emotionally lost control like that. It wasn’t in her code. She didn’t really know how to explain it, but shouting and getting angry, it just wasn’t right. It wasn’t what she was supposed to be like.

She didn’t want to look back at him. He somehow always managed to read her perfectly. Sometimes, though she’d never admit it, she liked it. That there was one person, that was her ally, who could actually understand her.

A part of her wanted to shut him out. She could do it. She could find and say the words that would permanently shove him away.

_He’s the only one that gets it._

She wasn’t one for conversations about feelings. Would she even know how to do that? How would you start? She was supposed to be a cold person. Shut off. Distant. Emotions weren’t a thing with her.

_There wouldn’t be any feelings to talk about anyway._

Natasha leaned back in her seat. “Don’t worry about me, alright?”

Bucky let out a sound of a sigh mixed with a laugh. She looked back at him. “I never really have to worry about you, you know.”

Natasha bit her lip. “Thank you. For staying.”

Bucky looked slightly taken aback by that. Then he relaxed into a soft smile.

She returned it hesitantly. “I think we all prefer working alone…but…I kind of need you for this.”

He nodded, his eyes not leaving hers. He and Yelena were her way in to public spaces. Without the two of them having her back, she might as well run around screaming her name.

Then his face fell. “He’s looking for me, isn’t he?”

Natasha’s expression hardened. This wasn’t the conversation she was looking forward to having.

She cleared her throat. “I should think so.”

Bucky’s fist curled, and his gaze moved to the dashboard. “You’re gonna tell him?”

Natasha shook her head vehemently. “It’s not my thing to tell.”

She watched him stare right in front of him, his lip trembling.

“Hey,” she said, her hand reaching for his left arm. Her fingers curled around the metal, and he froze.

“I won’t let those people find you. And I’m not gonna let them hurt you again,” she told him firmly. Bucky swallowed. “Neither you or Yelena, no matter how much Yelena hates me. We’re a team.”

He glanced back up at her, his eyes glassy. “You still trust me? After all I’ve done? To you?”

Natasha smiled gently. “I never stopped trusting you.”

Bucky still looked anxious. “I shot you. Twice.”

Natasha shook her head again. “No. The Winter Soldier shot me. That’s not you, it never was.”

He held her gaze, and shifted slightly in his seat. His human hand reached over, holding her hand that was placed on his left arm.

A banging sound jolted them out of their talk. Yelena had knocked on the metal on the car. Both Natasha and Bucky turned to the street, glaring at her.

She threw something at Natasha, some fabric that was yellow and bright silver.

“I’ll get that seat back,” Yelena growled at Bucky, who narrowed his eyes at her.

“What is this?” Natasha snapped, removing the cloth from her face. She held it up. “A reflector vest.”

“Congratulations you figured it out,” Yelena said with heavy sarcasm. “You’re going in.”

Natasha raised a brow. “You want me to break into an airport as an aircraft marshal?”

“Did it ever occur to you to tell us this plan change beforehand?” Bucky asked Yelena.

“Nope,” Yelena said cheerfully. She nodded at Natasha. “He and I’ll go through the airport. You go through the runways and all that.”

“That sounds like it’ll work out perfectly,” Natasha said under her breath. “How did you even get this?”

Yelena shoved her hands into her pockets. “Don’t give me that look. He’s fine okay, they’ll find him long after we’re done.”

Natasha’s eyes widened. “What did you do?”

“I said he’s fine, he’ll live.”

“Did anyone see you?”

Yelena gave her a look of annoyance, perhaps at Natasha’s lack of faith in her. “Just put it on.”

Natasha exchanged a glance with Bucky, who appeared irritated but also slightly amused.

“What?” Yelena spoke up, her voice distracting both of them again. “Was I interrupting something, princess?”

Natasha wasn’t in any mood to give any comebacks, and reluctantly took off her outer shirt that made her look like a civilian. The top of her suit was visible, especially the sleeves when she gingerly put on the reflectors vest.

“Hang on,” Bucky muttered, and reached in the back. His hand dug in a bag that hung to the back of his motorcycle, and extracted a worn-out black cap.

Natasha placed it on her head, adjusting her hair under it, then glanced up at Yelena and Bucky who were eyeing her carefully.

“Am I decent now?” Natasha retorted, only to Yelena’s amusement. “Or should I wear a pair of sunglasses to finish off the look?”

“You’re great. Now why are you still here?” Yelena said, ignoring Natasha’s last words. “You thinking about getting going?”

“Actually, you’re the ones who’re gonna start walking,” Natasha replied, smiling sweetly. “I need to park the car.”

Yelena glanced around at the stationary vehicle. “Is it not already—”

“You’re right, Yelena,” Natasha interrupted. “Let’s just leave a beaten-up jeep loaded with a bike and guns just outside for anyone to jump in and find.”

“Where are you gonna park it,” Bucky asked exasperatedly, turning so he blocked Yelena’s view inside.

“You know, there’s a hangar at this airport, that houses something we might end up needing, should we need to travel far.”

“Oh gee, I wonder what that could be,” Yelena muttered.

“A jet.” Bucky said, nodding. Natasha’s grin widened.

“An unused, SHIELD quinjet,” she corrected. “I still know all of SHIELD’s codes, I can get into that hangar, park the car here, and we got an easy way out should things go south.”

“So, if we mess up at an _airport,_ your plan is to fly out?” Yelena asked. Natasha threw her a look of annoyance.

“Ye of little faith,” she answered. “Didn’t you call me the best spy in the world? Just keep a damn lookout inside.”

Yelena shrugged, but stepped away from the car. She tapped her inner ear. Natasha heard the click inside the piece in her ear.

“We can all hear you,” Bucky said, wincing when Yelena did a test check. He slid out of the car, and patted down his jacket, feeling for his concealed weapons.

“We’ll figure out a way through security inside,” Yelena said, trying to hide the tinge of worry in her voice. She turned away. “Good luck.”

She started walking up the sidewalk the hill, towards the airport’s entrance. Natasha noticed the lack of coldness in her voice. Alright, baby steps.

Natasha glanced to her right. If you lifted your head high enough, you could see the tails of airplanes over the large fence that blocked the runways.

Bucky faced Natasha again. “Don’t die. And definitely don’t get caught.”

She felt her cheeks relax and let out a breath of air that almost sounded like a laugh.

“You too,” she said, starting the engine of the jeep again. Bucky stepped back, and turned away to catch up with Yelena.

Natasha watched their figures retreat until she pulled out of the side of the road, and turned back towards an area of trees that would allow her to conceal herself a little more easily.

She felt a twinge of worry seep through her mind. She hadn’t exactly told them the truth. After the fall of SHIELD, someone else took over ownership of some of the quinjets, especially the one locked at LaGuardia.

Someone who she dreaded bringing this mission up with at any point in her life.

“He’s rich, he doesn’t need another jet,” Natasha muttered to herself, and pressed harder on the gas pedal. Her fingers tapped on another device in her left ear, and a thin sheet fell, which she dragged and wrapped around her face. The sheet fit to her skin, and the now functioning facial distortion mask made her look like someone who was just kind of similar to the Black Widow.

***

When cool air greeted Bucky and Yelena inside the airport, they both felt the sense of anxiety float around them. They didn’t look that normal. Bucky was hiding his left hand inside his sleeve, and shifting to avoid any gun handles or hilts showing, and Yelena pushed her hair in front of her face to hide her still blackened eye. Just like Natasha, her wounds had mostly healed. But it was still easy to tell that she’d been in some sort of ordeal.

“That’s a lot of people,” Yelena murmured.

Single people, couples, families and groups crowed the entrance, rushing in with piles of luggage and shouting to get in line. It didn’t get much better when they pushed forward. A loud buzz of hundreds of conversations combined with the frantic running and dragging of luggage was enough to give anyone a headache.

“And you think you’re getting past security,” Bucky said under his breath. Yelena’s teeth gritted together.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. We’re here as lookouts,” he continued. The two didn’t stop walking. The moment you stop for moving no reason, you’re suspicious.

“Yeah? When are you gonna stop getting orders and start giving them?” Yelena muttered.

Bucky stopped. Yelena slowed too, and turned to face him.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed anything,” Yelena said. “You act like her pet. You two think I’m just gonna believe _you_ were her _trainer_?”

Bucky’s face twitched, and he spoke with a low, dangerous voice. “I’d shut up right now if I were you.”

“Good thing you’re not,” Yelena replied. “I doubt you’d survive a day as me. All I’ve seen you do is take orders, listen to her, do what she says.”

“You don’t know a thing about me, then,” Bucky said, holding her glare. Yelena raised an eyebrow delicately.

“No? Let’s sit down, we have time for your life story,” Yelena said with a scarily sweet voice. People close to them shot concerned glances, but were looking away when they passed by.

Bucky let out a short, humorless laugh. “You talk, I talk. Tell me, what’s it like still being in the shadow of your classmate?”

Yelena’s sarcastic smile dropped, and her fingers found the metal of a knife that pressed against her thigh.

“You should be so lucky that she would kill me if I lay a finger on you,” Yelena hissed.

“Ah…that’s cute, thinking you would win,” Bucky said with a grin, rolling his eyes.

Yelena’s grip tightened under her clothes.

Then Bucky’s gaze fell onto the screen showing departures, and his expression fell into something serious, that made Yelena freeze.

“That meetup…” Bucky said quietly. “Two hours from when we were at the warehouse…”

Yelena stared at the board, and found the country he was looking at. Her hand let go of the grip on her knife.

“Look what leaves in half an hour,” Bucky said, walking closer to the screen.

A departure to Minsk, Belarus was slated for 6.30pm.

“It’s not just a meetup, they’re actually going back,” Yelena said. “She was right. This is the Red Room.”

Bucky glanced around calmly.

“Nine o’clock,” he whispered to her, and Yelena slowly tilted her head to the left. A blonde woman, perusing a magazine and leaning against the wall a little while away, had just lifted her gaze to look at them. She stood, her leg blocking a piece of luggage.

Yelena turned around. A man sitting at a café, looked her dead in the eye while sitting in front of a laptop. Two more men sat on a bench, no luggage, and she saw the shadow of a gun inside their shirt jackets. Another woman with her head in her hands, lifted her head to watch her, and Yelena swore she saw the silver glint of something sharp hiding inside her sleeve.

“How many?”

“Five, six, eight,” Yelena replied, facing Bucky again. “They know. We’re set up.”

Bucky paused for a second. “Get to the bathroom.”

Yelena turned without a second word, and Bucky followed after her. He caught up to her pace, and they walked right past the two men on the bench silently, and found a bathroom sign.

“Congratulations, your first order,” Yelena said, as she pushed open the door to the women’s bathroom.

“Just get inside and tell her,” Bucky sighed, and waited outside the door while Yelena checked the stalls for anyone inside.

Yelena went to the end of the room. Two women were washing their hands. Almost all of the stalls were occupied.

She pulled out a block device that could look like a phone but was really something that could unlock a simple door. Out there, someone professional, or cameras, would recognize that this wasn’t a phone. Hopefully the women in here wouldn’t care about a phone call, and wouldn’t look too closely at it.

She held it up to her ear after pressing the button on her earpiece.

“Hey, Natasha,” Yelena said cheerfully.

“ _Hey, first name basis, that’s a new step,”_ Natasha’s voice said in her ear.

Yelena shut her eyes for a moment.

“Damn it,” she mouthed to herself. “Uh-huh. The other name’s just such a mouthful.”

_“Sure, it is.”_

“Anyway, listen, we might have a problem here.”

Natasha was silent for a moment. _“They’re here, aren’t they?”_

“Oh, just under ten,” Yelena replied calmly, brandishing a smile for the woman who threw her an annoyed glance. “I don’t think your boss is here yet, though. Just the workers.”

Natasha seemed to have gotten the message by this point.

_“What are they waiting for?”_

“Their flight. You were right, they’re going home,” Yelena answered, hoping that was enough to clue Natasha in.

_“Any guns?”_

“Oh yeah. We’re keeping an eye on them, just like they are.”

 _“They’re going to Belarus,”_ Natasha said after a few seconds of silence, her voice sounding distant.

Yelena turned her body away from the mother and daughter that were staring at her. “Uh-huh.”

“Watch them. And tell me the gate. Once they start moving—”

“We will too, don’t worry,” Yelena completed with a warm voice. “I’ll see you there.”

***

Natasha removed her finger’s pressure on the ear piece and climbed out of the car. She reached for a gun inside the car that would freeze a security camera’s image.

She was in a small collection of bright green and light brown trees, waving gently in the wind. Ahead of her, an electric fence that must’ve been four meters tall. She counted three cameras that could catch her. One on the fence where she was, and two by the doors of the hangar. A long way past the hangar, the runways in the airport stood.

The moment she disabled the cameras, they’d know when she’d done it. Lack of view of airplanes taking off would expose her. She’d have about a three-minute window between the next plane takeoff.

Three minutes to break down part of the fence, drive a car into the airport, break into a hangar and hide the car in the quinjet. Assuming it was still locked in there.

She glanced back at the jeep. It couldn’t be more than two meters tall.

A loud roaring sound started growing, and Natasha held the gun up to the security camera. Right at the metal where the cords lay.

The sound was near deafening, and Natasha watched as a massively large airplane sped up until it lifted off the runway and into the air.

A gust of powerful winds blew past her, enough to nearly knock her down. Her finger pressed down on the trigger as the winds grew strong enough to force her to shut her eyes, and she held her cap down over her head with her free hand.

Her brain started the three-minute countdown the moment she heard the soft clang of the bullet striking the camera stand.

In her pocket she carried a package that contained four circular devices, as thick as the common phone, as large as her palm and much heavier than they looked.

She picked each device on at a time and threw them against each corner of the fence area. They stuck in each corner like glue. She pressed a button inside the package, and a low buzz was heard for a second, and then the devices fell off the fence silently.

Two minutes.

Natasha sprinted forward and picked up the devices, dropping them back into the package. Too bad they could only be used once, Natasha thought to herself as she admired the tech. She then drove the jeep all the way up to the fence, and climbed onto the roof of the car. Using a hilt that produced a small, blue laser flame, she sliced through the now disabled area of the electric fence. She kicked down the cut away fence and slid inside the driver’s seat again.

Natasha drove through the open area easily. She lifted the gun and disabled the camera by the hangar door.

She could see the airplane at the end of the runway if she squinted. Nearly two kilometers away from the hangar. The airport stood across from her, hazy in the heat generated from the runways.

One minute.

She located a small block device that looked like a phone from her pocket. It would unlock the double-doors. Natasha jumped out of the car and held the block against the door near the handle, and waited for the beep and a clicking sound.

Then she tossed the block back inside the jeep and ripped open the doors. One more camera inside the hangar. A click, a bang, and it was disabled.

Natasha shoved the gun under the seat inside the jeep, and drove inside the warehouse, the roof nearly hitting the top of the double door frame after the tires bounced over the threshold.

Twenty seconds.

She jumped back out of the car and shut the doors behind her.

The hangar was cooled inside, and taking up all the space, a sturdy, black and grey quinjet stood in the center of it all.

Natasha let herself smile for just a second.

The quinjet was easily operated from here. The backdoor of the jet was already open, and Natasha saw some tools lay around the ground near the entrance. Natasha didn’t waste a second driving the jeep inside the jet. The car fit very snugly inside, with just enough space to move beside it to the cockpit.

Natasha pressed her earpiece.

“Yelena?”

“ _Gate D10,”_ Yelena’s voice said to her after a few seconds. _“They’re boarding soon.”_

“The jet’s here,” Natasha stated. “We have our way out ready to go.”

_“Right. Everyone’s still here though. They’re just… watching us. I don’t know how they plan on getting through security.”_

“Something’s wrong,” Natasha said, shaking her head. “Don’t lose sight of them.”

_“We won’t.”_

“And Yelena?” She added.

_“Yeah?”_

Natasha glanced down at the floor. “Stay safe.”

There was a rough, long silence after that, before Yelena responded, as if she was struggling to speak.

_“You too.”_

Natasha removed the pressure on the ear piece and stepped into the cockpit. She hesitated. The moment she used fingerprint and voice recognition in the jet…he…would know she took possession. That is, if he even put her in the database. She was still in SHIELD’s, but Natasha didn’t put it past him to wipe the database for the jets.

She pressed her hand onto a plate near the instrumental panel, and waited.

“Welcome. Voice activation required.”

“Natasha Romanoff,” Natasha replied clearly to the disembodied female voice that rang through the jet.

A beat of silence, then—

“Welcome, Agent Romanoff.”

Natasha let her shoulders fall in relief as the instrumental panel lit up, ready for her to use.

“You’ll have to wait,” Natasha murmured to the all the buttons and lights and flickers, as she turned and stepped off the jet.

She readjusted her cap.

Another roar sounded and she realized a new aircraft was taking off.

Her window was over. If they checked the cameras, and saw no aircrafts from the playback, the area would be searched and the jet compromised.

Which means she had to lock up, sneak through a runway and find the outer area of gate D10 and hope to see the white woman or anyone else suspicious boarding the plane, as Yelena and Bucky had no way of making it past security. All the while praying that workers didn’t invade this hangar and compromise their escape.

Ten minutes later, the airport still hadn’t shut down, or if they were theorizing something might be happening by now, they were looking for anything suspicious secretly. Yelena had informed her that the plane had started boarding. Natasha had walked with her head down towards another hangar that stood about a kilometer away, while three more aircrafts passed her taking off. She’d responded by ducking near the heavy grass the lined the runways. After reaching the next hangar, she had found one of those small vehicles that the aircraft marshals used to transport luggage and fuel. It was dented and dying, but she used it to drive around the airport discreetly around the bend and towards the gates, past airplanes.

Natasha knew by now something had to have been called in. Someone had seen her off towards the runways, and driving inwards.

She pressed hard on the gas near an empty area where stationary airplanes stood by their gates, and then stepped off the still moving car. It slowed to a stop while Natasha treaded confidently away, keeping her head down. A man driving a luggage car sped past her, and stared at her with confusion. Natasha nodded at the man as a greeting and continued past.

Pretending like you know what you’re doing was the key to coming off like a normal person.

She ducked under a Boeing airliner, and read gate C14 where it was parked. The gates were clumped by their letter, and designed as rounded spikes protruding from the airport. This was the collection of the C gates. She squinted and saw the next group of gates ahead of her, seeing gates D4, 6, 8, and 10. Gate D10 had a huge white Airbus plane sitting, with a red tail and blue paint reading Turkish Airlines. The jetway had already been attached to the doors of the airplane, and through tinted glass she could just make out the silhouettes of several people rushing to board.

Natasha activated her ear piece. “I’m at the gate.”

 _“They’re still here at check in.”_ Yelena responded.

Natasha stepped closer, just enough to start making out faces. The last people were boarding the aircraft now. The space between each group of passengers was longer, until she was sure everyone boarded.

Then a tall man dressed in a suit marched forward through the jetway. He hurried through, but not like he was panicking.

That was someone Natasha recognized. Because that was a familiar SHIELD agent who’d turned to work for the government.

Natasha stared at the jet, her finger still pressing on the piece in her ear.

And then the realization of it all hit her like a truck. She froze, staring up at the jetway.

“Yelena—”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry for the delay! ive been a little busy with tests and presentations, and this was orginally a long chapter. i wrote this and the next one as one. When it became twice as long as my usual word count for chapters i split it up. So here's the first part of the second act, essentially, and the second part. So two chapters in one day! thank you for reading, feedback is always appreciated :)


	10. Part 10

“Ow,” Yelena hissed, her hand flying to cover her ear. A sharp, loud sound like feedback struck her suddenly. Bucky’s snapped his gaze to her, and covered her with his arm, pulling her towards a bench.

“What?”

“Romanova?” Yelena whispered, waiting for a response. Bucky glanced up at her, his face falling as Yelena repeated Natasha’s last name two more times to no response.

Yelena bit down on her lip, trying to keep her voice low. “Damn it, Natasha can you hear me?”

Bucky’s eyes flitted around, a horrible feeling in his stomach.

“We’re screwed,” Yelena whispered, her face falling into her hands. To a stranger, she and Bucky might’ve looked like a couple that missed their flight.

Bucky felt nothing but the desire to abandon the check in area and run towards the gate to find out what had happened to Natasha. The screen no longer showed the Minsk departure, indicating the aircraft had closed its gates and was starting to move.

“We have to stay here,” Bucky said with a cracked voice. “We have to see what these people are here for, why they’re watching us.”

“They’re here for us,” Yelena said, shaking her head. “They probably already got Natasha. Once we leave, they’ll grab us. That meetup the guy told us was all a ruse to get us here under the eye of everyone in the world.”

Yelena looked around at the mercenaries stationed to watch them. The woman at their nine o’clock met Yelena’s eyes and smirked ever so slightly.

“We’re stuck here.”

***

Natasha massaged her forehead after being shoved onto the pavement. She rolled over, hearing Yelena’s voice shouting in her ear.

She reached for her ear piece until the man who had pushed her onto the ground grabbed her up and positioned his arm in front of her chest, pulling back and choking her into silence.

Natasha grunted, letting out uneven gasps as the man pulled her behind an empty luggage cart.

She kicked down on his feet, slammed her elbows into his stomach but none of her attempts freed her from his grasp. She couldn’t even see his face. Her cap had fallen off when she was pushed and her hair flew wildly in a combination of her being tossed around and the strong winds, clouding her vision. The shock of simply being shoved onto the ground had forced her into fight mode, which involved prioritizing survival over information.

The man was holding her to the brink of passing out, but just enough to keep her conscious.

Natasha shook her head, clearing her vision. The plane that had pulled out of gate D10 was now moving slowly towards a stretch which had two other aircrafts lined up for takeoff.

Natasha didn’t know how long she was held in a chokehold that was just light enough to keep her alive. Her hits became weaker and weaker until she no longer had the strength to fight hard enough. She watched the two planes ahead of the Airbus flight containing the SHIELD agent take off.

Then the grip loosened just enough.

Her fingernails scraped down his hand, hard enough to draw blood, and she ripped his grip away from her. Without missing a beat, she broke free, turned around and kicked him in the gut.

She pressed her ear piece, only to discover the lack of device inside her ear. She looked at her fingers, then at the man. He was big, heavy, and definitely a fighter that relied on strength rather than strategy. He also held her earpiece in his hand.

Natasha slammed her foot onto his throat, leaning down hard, watching his face turn red.

“I’ll need that back,” she said.

He smiled while choking. “You’re too late.”

***

Yelena stared at the man in the café, who was still typing on his laptop. She discreetly threw glances at him, noticing him reach for his ear and speak quietly.

“They have earpieces,” Bucky said, noticing the same thing.

“The feedback…” Yelena said. “Someone’s out there with Natasha. They’re communicating.”

Yelena looked at the other mercenaries. Two men on the bench, the woman with the obvious knife in her sleeve, and the others who were pretending to be in stores or in lines.

Her heart nearly stopped.

“She’s gone.”

Bucky stared where Yelena was looking. The first woman, their nine o’clock, the blonde with the luggage was no longer there.

“Luggage…” Yelena whispered to herself. “The flight…”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “I know how they’re getting through security.”

Yelena’s brows furrowed, then she realized.

“Oh God.”

“Do we run or follow?” Bucky asked urgently.

Yelena looked around, and spotted the blonde woman near the security lines, bending down to open her luggage. Then she stood up, and walked away.

“We run,” Yelena said. “Now!”

The two took off in the opposite direction in a full sprint, attracting the attention of probably every person.

They had just rounded a corner when the bomb went off.

***

As TSA agents shouted for help, the mercenaries all ran through the chaos, past the metal detectors which had been broken from the explosion and into the rest of the airport.

After the bang, Yelena and Bucky did a 360 and ran back towards security.

People were screaming, running out of the airport. Near the security lines, the area was clouded with smoke and Yelena and Bucky could already make out motionless bodies strayed around. Workers attempted to guide civilians to safety to no avail, while others called for backup. The explosion seemed to have been more smoky than fiery.

Getting past security was too easy. The TSA agents attempted to stop them, but most of them had been knocked down during the explosion. Yelena guessed a couple of them had fatal injuries. She estimated from the size of the explosion that there would be a number of deaths and a near hundred injured. The entire airport would go on lockdown.

“There!” Yelena shouted, spotting about ten people sprinting away in front of them, guns out and firing at anyone who attempted to stop them. Bucky and her ran after, ducking and dodging past air marshals who screamed at them to stop, brandishing their badges.

It was the same level of chaotic here that it was before security. People were running into bathrooms to hide, screaming and shrieking for their lives, holding their families close and moving in the opposite direction of the explosion.

“Gate D10!” Bucky yelled back to her, and they watched the mercenaries ahead also follow signs to the gate.

Gunshots rang through the airport, causing more screams.

The mercenaries shot their way through the immigration stands to international flights. Officers behind the desks ducked down, obviously calling in for serious help. The airport was locking down.

Yelena and Bucky followed, neither of them pulling out a weapon yet. They dodged but eventually were forced for shove past confused people to keep up.

All of them had now arrived at the now empty gate.

***

Natasha looked at the runway, and watched as the airplane that was preparing for Belarus speed up and near the end of the stretch, lifting off. In her distraction, the man grabbed her ankle, twisted it, and stood as she lost her balance. He started running towards the walls of the airport, waiting by the tall glass windows for the inside of gate D10. Natasha ripped off her reflectors vest and slid out of the civilian pants, now in full gear.

She sprinted towards him and used her hands to grab his shoulders and pull him backwards. As he leaned downwards, she pushed up onto his shoulders and locked her thighs around his neck. In a swift movement, she twisted her body elegantly and brought the man down, landing upright. She then grabbed the ear piece back from him and closed her fist.

In that moment the man used his arm to swipe at her legs. Natasha grunted as she collapsed onto the ground beside him on her back. She swung her leg up across her chest and struck his nose, and in the flow of the movement used her hands to turn her body and rise up again.

The airplane lifted into the air.

***

“There!” Bucky yelled, pointing at Natasha, who was in full combat with a guy right where an aircraft would’ve been parked. Yelena stared at one of the mercenaries inside, who shot at the window multiple times until it shattered.

Yelena reached for her gun and pointed it at the one shooting at the glass. They then threw a long package out through the shattered window and onto the ground outside near Natasha.

Then Yelena shot them in the head.

She glanced at Bucky for what felt like an eternity before she spoke again, as all the mercenaries reloaded.

“I got the right.”

Bucky let the tips of his mouth lift for just a moment.

“I got the left.”

Yelena ran and ducked bullets from the mercenaries, pulling out her knife and swiping at one of their knees. She pulled the man she’d cut into a headlock and kicked the one next to him, bringing both down at the same time.

Bucky ripped a gun clean out of a woman’s hands, his metal fist making contact with her teeth. He then put all his strength into a kick that sent a man flying into a wall.

Yelena punched down a woman who had had a near clean shot of Bucky’s head. Bucky twisted another man’s arm causing him to drop his gun while Yelena snapped his neck at the same second.

And outside on the pavement, the man ran away from Natasha again, picking up the package that had been tossed down. He ripped away the paper and brandished a gun about as tall and big as Natasha herself.

Natasha reached for the end of the gun and dragged it downwards, but the man fought against her strength and the nozzle hit her jaw. She pulled out her gun and didn’t hesitate in squeezing the trigger while pointing at his arm. He ended up dodging or blocking bullets with his gun.

The man lifted the gun, and Natasha saw that it looked more like a small missile launcher, that was pointed just above her head.

Both Yelena and Bucky had just taken down all ten of the mercenaries who had sent the airport into chaos. Civilians a good distance away from the fight were standing and watching in horror, some running away when Yelena and Bucky stared at all of them.

Yelena glanced at Bucky, both of them just slightly out of breath, and nodded once. He returned it.

Then she looked out at the pavement outside, and saw Natasha on the ground after being knocked back with the butt of a missile launcher the man she was fighting was carrying.

Her gaze moved up and saw an airplane high in the air, turning directions from its takeoff to fly directly away in front of them.

Bucky seemed to have clicked it all together and pulled out his own gun, aiming at the man’s head.

He was just a second late. As the man launched a flash of light that shot towards the airplane that had just taken off. The man had ducked and Bucky’s bullet missed by inches.

They all watched in horror as the missile struck the tail of the airplane, pushing the back downwards than forwards, and forcing the plane to essentially turn upside down and begin to fall back towards the airport.

Natasha couldn’t move for a moment. The aircraft began tumbling back, fire erupting on the side of the plane and the back. And she watched passengers inside be flown out of the airplane through the ripped off side and fall towards the ground from a height impossible to survive from.

The aircraft was still too far to hear anything, but Natasha could imagine the screams.

“Oh, shit!” Yelena shouted after calculating exactly where the airplane would crash back down towards. Bucky seemed to have understood too, as well as a handful of other people.

They had no where to run but back towards where a bomb had detonated, as the gate was at the end of one of the spikes for the collection of alphabetical gates.

Natasha ran backwards and kicked the launcher out of the man’s hands. The man reached for a knife in her pocket as she was in close contact and pushed her to the ground. He bent down and cut through skin near her ankle. Natasha kicked her heel back, hitting him in the throat, and started crawling away, her ankle searing from the pain.

The plane was nearing the runway again, a loud humming sound from the engines of the aircraft becoming louder and louder.

The man stood up and threw the knife at Natasha, the blade striking through the side of her back. Natasha yelped in pain as she flattened down against the pavement.

She forced her muscles to keep moving, otherwise she’d be killed by a crashing plane. She scrambled to her feet and started running with a limp off to the side. The man stalked after her.

The airplane crashed onto the pavement of the runways, skidding with a screech so painfully loud Natasha couldn’t hear anything else. The airplane continued to slide towards the airport, directly towards the gate that had been surrounded by people watching a fight.

Natasha pushed all of her energy into her legs and sprinted as fast as she possibly could. A car still loaded with another people’s luggage stood in front of her.

The plane was seconds away from smashing through the airport structure.

Natasha pushed off of the luggage, and performed a front handspring using the luggage as a vault, and landed behind the car. She curled into a ball, using the car as a shield.

The tip of the wing of the airplane flew just above her head.

And with a crashing sound that almost deafened her, the airplane collided with the airport with fire.

Yelena and Bucky continued sprinting, but slowed when they heard a crashing sound that shattered windows and caused the airport to erupt in screams. Some of pain, some of fear.

The both turned back to see the nose of an upside-down aircraft broken through the airport and destroyed gate D10 and several other gates. It had skidded so far in the wings had acted as knives and sliced through the rest of the structure, completely demolished this part of the airport.

“We need to find Natasha,” Yelena panted. There was no time to waste. She could already hear helicopters and sirens approaching. It wouldn’t be mere minutes until an army of police descended onto the mess. Until she saw the beginning of the fire expanding in seconds and Bucky had pulled her out of sight.

***

Natasha rolled over on her side, her left ear ringing. The explosion from the plane that had crashed to a stop was obvious. That much fire near the fuel tank had sent airplane and any other surviving passengers to kingdom come.

She grabbed onto the luggage above the toppled over car, and saw a sight in front of her that both horrified and relieved her. The man who had attacked her was dead. But he had been decapitated by the wing of the plane, and his headless, bloody body lay just feet in front of her.

Her movements were slow. Her fist opened in front of her and through shaky vision and a headache she managed to make out an undamaged ear piece in her hand. She pushed it into her ear only to discover a stinging shock run through her body. She pulled back her hand to see blood on her fingers and on the earpiece. Reluctantly, and although it caused pain, she put the ear piece back in.

“Yel—yelen—a,” Natasha coughed out. She thought she was shouting but it sounded like a whisper. “Yelena!”

Natasha could barely stand. She leaned against the car for support, and looked up at the wrecked structure and exploded plane. Dizziness struck her as she tried to stand, and her eyes rolled before finding balance.

Was that sirens or still the ringing in her ears? She couldn’t properly string together thoughts. She wanted to sleep.

The white woman.

Natasha’s eyes widened and her breaths were short. The woman was standing in front of her. She wasn’t burned. She wasn’t hurt. Still dressed in that white coat.

Her face was…familiar. The smirk, the eyes, something felt like Natasha knew her. But she didn’t recognize her. Dark hair framed her face. The woman’s smile grew as Natasha struggled to stand up.

The woman threw something at her. A bag. A bag that spilled its contents once it hit the ground beside her. Natasha stared at the contents, trying to identify them. Then she looked back up, only to find the woman gone.

“No,” Natasha breathed. Her head turned back to the bag, and something connected in her mind as she realized what the objects were. Her stomach twisted and her lungs felt like they’d lost air.

She identified two guns and two earpieces covered in blood from the bag as belonging to Yelena and Bucky.

Natasha had to run. Now. She had to go.

She grabbed the bag, shoving the contents back in. That bag had been a message.

They had her only allies.

“Freeze!”

Natasha continued moving. If she ran hard enough, she could make it to the hangar in under ten minutes. Shouts from officers didn’t deter her.

Keep going, her thoughts pushed her. The last bits of her energy in her running muscles. Pain spread from her back, her head, her jaw, her ankle, and every other inch on her body.

She pulled out another gun.

“Freeze, hands up or we shoot!”

Natasha ran, her hands covering her head.

Just about five more minutes and she’d be inside the hangar.

Bangs from guns filled the air.

Pain shot through Natasha’s leg.

Natasha let out a short shriek of pain, but pressed forward. “Just a little more.”

She pointed her own gun behind her and squeezed the trigger.

Natasha started running faster. The hangar was growing larger and larger.

“Come on!” she screamed to herself.

Another aircraft that had been halted by the control tower after the chaos that had just ensued acted as a barrier. Natasha ran under the airplane, and knew the officers would have to think about further actions in the face of hundreds of horrified and curious passengers inside that plane.

Just a couple more minutes.

Helicopters were clouding the sky. Police and ambulance sirens were all she could hear now.

Another bullet grazed her right thigh, so painful she nearly collapsed there. Her limp was stronger, and every step caused her body to throb with pain. The burning shock that acted like waves from her open wounds was excruciating now.

Natasha reached the hangar.

She pushed through the still unlocked double doors, and stumbled into the hangar. The jet was standing, ready for her.

A third bullet found home in her left arm. Natasha finally fell to the ground. She was just feet away from boarding the quinjet.

Her vision was blackening. She just wanted to sleep. She just wanted to sleep.

_Don’t die. And definitely don’t get caught._

Natasha’s hand found the metal of the floor of the jet, and crawled onboard.

She turned on her back, pain shooting from the bullet wounds in her leg and the stab wound in her back to every part of her body.

Three officers stood, guns out and pointing at her. Natasha shot one in the hip. She squeezed the trigger again and a bullet struck a second officer in the leg.

The third officer managed to shoot at her just before he too collapsed from a gunshot from Natasha.

Natasha climbed into the cockpit, past the jeep. Her hand, unrecognizable from all the blood, pressed against the fingerprint recognition. A beep sounded, recognizing her prints.

“Welcome. Voice activation required.”

“Nat-natash-a Romano—” Natasha coughed out, her voice rising and falling rapidly.

“Access denied.”

Natasha used the chair to drag herself up to a seating position. She breathed in.

“Natasha Romanoff,” she managed to spit out.

“Welcome, Agent Romanoff,” the female voice said, and Natasha relaxed in her seat. Her breathing was labored and croaky.

“Engage autopilot. Get me out of here,” Natasha whispered. The AI inside the quinjet responded by starting the engines, shutting the doors.

The quinjet lifted into the air, breaking through the wooden roof of the hangar.

“Engage retroreflection panels,” Natasha whispered, and the quinjet camouflaged into the sky.

“Where to, Agent Romanoff?” the female voice asked.

Natasha leaned against the walls of the jet, her breathing slowing. She felt a wave of sleep beginning to drag her under.

“Belarus,” Natasha finally said.

Then she collapsed onto the floor, unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if any of this scene is confusing, i'd suggest looking at the map of LaGuardia here https://www.laguardiaairport.com/at-airport/airport-maps  
> You can see the spikes for each collection of gates, and maybe if it was confusing understand the layout and how the plane crashed back through the "spike". Gate D10 is also labelled loll. and anyway, thank you for reading!


	11. Part 11

_1962_

A soft tapping noise on the wooden door made Madame B. lift her head. She gently laid down her pen and folded her hands together over her desk.

“Enter,” Madame B. called in a curt voice.

The dark, wooden door pushed open and Natalia stepped through, her face passive, hands at her side.

Madame B. narrowed her eyes at the girl. An annoyingly loud clock ticked away the seconds. Natalia knew better than to speak up first. The girl had been with them for near two decades and she looked it. The survivors of the program were dwindling, and soon the procedure would take place to freeze her body so she would stay young for decades.

Madame B. stared the girl down, frowning.

“I am disappointed, Romanova.”

Natalia’s face showed no flicker of emotion. A small tilt of her head displayed her confusion.

“Do not treat me like the common fool,” Madame B. spoke, standing, her hands still delicately placed on the mahogany of her desk. “You believe you can keep secrets from me?”

Natalia’s demeanor didn’t change, although she clasped her hands behind her back, and rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet.

“I am afraid I don’t know—”

Madame B. stepped around her desk and held her hand up, pressing her pointer and middle finger against her thumb, a symbol of silence that caught of Natalia’s words.

The difference between the two was obvious to a passerby in their outfits. Natalia was always fitted in a tight black shirt and pants with red lining, her hair plaited. Madame B. wore a beautiful blue dress, complete with white gloves and jewels fitted everywhere possible on her wrists, hanging from her ears, and around her neck. Her pale blonde hair was curled into a bun.

Madame B. looked down at Natalia. She was an adult, but still small and skinny. Madame B. towered down over her, especially in her heels. She crossed her arms, her fingers rhythmically tapping on her arm.

“The soldier,” Madame B. said. “The asset we have generously received to guard the girls after the traitor abandoned us. You know his name, do you not?”

Natalia’s eyes blanked. “No.”

Madame B. mouth twisted into a terrifying smile. “You have grown into a talented liar, Romanova. Unfortunately, you will never be good enough to fool me.”

Natalia held the older woman’s gaze. Madame B. wasn’t surprised. The girl was undoubtedly the best of the program. Strong enough to stand up for herself but intelligent enough to keep her mouth shut when she had to. But what she had done in the past months let her down immeasurably.

“What is his name?”

“I don’t know.”

Madame B.’s smile widened. “I know you have been breaking out of your restraints every night for nine weeks. You see, one of your friends, she was weak. I almost had her executed, but she offered me secrets in exchange for her life.”

Natalia’s eyes finally moved away, flickering around the room.

“She will still be executed of course,” Madame B. added, like it was nothing. “The Red Room has no place for weaklings.”

“Are you executing me?” Natalia asked.

“Well, what have you done?” Madame B. said. “You left your room each night, for what?”

Natalia’s jaw clenched. “He…intrigues me.”

Madame B. nodded her head once, and walked back to her desk. She ruffled through a stack of papers, finding a folder.

“Did you learn anything?”

Natalia caught a loss of harshness in her superior’s voice, and started talking. “I thought he was just another student. He’s different.”

Madame B. indulged her for just a little longer. “Different how?”

“It took me awhile,” Natalia continued, still holding her obedient stance. “But he opened up. He’s…kind. He…he understands me. I do not think he has a life besides being their asset. But, the way he talks, like he did.”

Madame B. gazed at the folder, then at Natalia. “You are very perceptive. And intelligent. It’d be a shame to kill you. But you have fallen victim to a disease that is fatal to everyone who finds it.”

“I do not understand,” Natalia replied.

Madame B. put down the folder. Natalia had been close to discovering the man’s past. The facts were inside the folder. She’d been sure that the soldier’s mind had been erased enough times, yet Natalia had managed to break through. And Madame B. knew exactly how. Curiosity led to an alliance, then to a friendship, and crashed into the final base.

Madame B. tapped her fingers together in time with the clock. She moved back to Natalia, then placed her arm around the girl’s shoulders, and led her towards the door.

“The weakness that destroys any assassin, Romanova,” Madame B. spoke, and left her office to head towards the elevator.

“Love.”

***

The elevator rocked downwards, descending into basement levels underneath the Red Room. Natalia had kept silent since the last word Madame B. uttered, before ushering her into the elevator.

The elevator itself was in deep contrast with the rest of the Red Room. While the Red Room was decorated, treated like an expensive jewel in the Soviet Union’s secret crown, the elevator was dark, and with chained metal walls, like a jail cell. None of the girls in the program were allowed to use the elevator, unless they were with their superior for a special reason.

The elevator made a clanging sound as it reached the lowest level. The doors slid open with a creaking noise, and Madame B. welcomed Natalia into a spacious, darkly lit room.

Guards stood around the room, which was formed like a circle. The walls were peeled and looked like they were decaying. What little light there was came from bright white bulbs that only illuminated a small space. And an odd smell filled the room. Not strong enough to be overwhelming, but enough to tell Natalia that people had died here, brutally. Dark, faded stains on the walls added to that theory.

But it wasn’t any of that that made Natalia flinch. It was the mechanism that locked the Winter Soldier in his place in the center of the room. A massive metal lock curled around each arm, and held him in his seat. Something that looked like a metal helmet was also locked around his head, with wires that led to a control panel in front of him.

“We cannot keep him forever, Romanova,” Madame B. said, leading the girl to a desk that faced him. “He does not belong to us. Nor you. Thus, we must wipe him.”

Natalia’s muscles clenched to avoid showing any sign of emotion.

Madame B. brought her to the control panel. Natalia snuck a glance at him, and saw him shaking, his eyes tearing up. Natalia felt a tug in her stomach.

“You are going to wipe him. Now.”

Natalia’s hands didn’t move. She could imagine what they’d do with her if she refused.

Madame B.’s hand wrapped around Natalia’s arm, her fingernails digging into her skin.

“I said, now.”

Natalia bit her lip, trying to stop herself from shaking. She met his eyes again, her vision fogging up from the tears forming in her eyes. He looked desperate, scared.

She wouldn’t hurt him.

“No.”

Madame B.’s grip tightened for a moment, then her hand dropped. She stared down at Natalia.

“Such a pity.”

Then Madame B. flicked a large switch on the control board, and a horrifying electric buzz began repeating.

His screams filled the air.

Natalia shut her eyes, the tears streaming down her face. Madame B. didn’t even flinch as his mind was electrocuted over and over again.

“Stop,” Natalia breathed out, reaching for the switch. Madame B. nodded her head at two of the guards in the room, who reached for Natalia and dragged her back. Another guard approached the control panel with a red book in his hand, and began reciting Russian, singular words after each shock.

Natalia fought against the guards holding her back, watching the man she’d grown to care for have his mind ripped apart and put back together, in a way that’d make him forget her.

They were stronger, and Natalia’s emotional state was weakening her mind’s ability to think strategically.

“Stop!” Natalia shrieked again and again, while Madame B. stood by, gazing at the two of them.

The guards managed to pull her back towards the desk that faced the mechanism, on the other side of the room. Natalia was locked down to a chair with leather straps wrapping around her body and all of her limbs.

Madame B. approached her. “I will give you one more chance. Be happy you are that lucky.”

She pushed a contraption on the desk towards Natalia’s hand, which were strapped onto the table.

Natalia recognized the contraption, and her cries halted immediately.

“No, no,” she mumbled, fear rippling through her whole body.

“Sometimes,” Madame B. began, dragging Natalia’s resisting hands towards the contraption. “Heartbreak is painful enough to destroy love.”

Natalia’s fingers were locked into the device. A piece of metal wrapped around her wrist, over her hand, and the bottom of each of her fingers. A thin but firm piece sat just under her fingernails.

“Please,” Natalia begged.

Madame B.’s expression was unflinching. “Perhaps this will be enough to remind you that love is weakness. If you dare defy me again, I promise this pain will not compare to what I will do with you then.”

Natalia whimpered, wincing every time a sound of electrocution vibrated through the atmosphere.

Madame B. dragged a lever attached to the device downwards, hard and abruptly. The piece under her right pointer finger was forcibly moved upwards, and Natalia’s fingernail was ripped clean off.

The pain sent shockwaves like icy fire through her veins, burning her whole body up. Her finger felt like it had its own loud heartbeat, as waves of throbs of pain shot through her body.

She didn’t even notice Madame B. move the piece under another fingernail.

The clang as the lever was pulled down again tore off another fingernail, and Natalia finally screamed. Screamed for it to end, for them to stop.

The only sounds that could be heard were his and hers screams, drowning out the electrocution and metal contraption.

Another nail, another nail. Natalia’s screams reached a higher pitch each time, until she’d screamed for so long that her voice broke. She writhed in pain with the little movement she’d been allowed, sobbing while her entire right hand became coated with blood. Madame B. didn’t hesitate in starting with the left hand.

He had become the Winter Soldier again, still locked in the mechanism as he stared at the unfamiliar redhead who cried out for mercy as each of her nails were ripped off violently.

Madame B. leaned back, admiring the fact that Natalia hadn’t passed out from the pain yet. The guards released the Winter Soldier from his restraints. He didn’t resist anymore. He followed after his superiors with a passive expression.

Natalia was also made unrestrained, crying and swimming in and out of unconsciousness. She was just awake enough to feel the relentless burning waves of pain that spread from her bloodied, nail-less hands and through her body. She collapsed to the cold, cement floor and huddled against the curved wall. The guards and the Winter Soldier passed her by. They stopped, allowing him to gaze down at the shaking girl that was just a stranger to him.

Natalia focused her gaze enough to find his dark, cold eyes. Her voice was stammering and weak from her screams as she whispered one word.

“James?”

Maybe it was the light, but Natalia swore she saw something flicker in his eyes. It disappeared as soon as she caught it.

“ _Soldier?_ ” A guard called in Russian. The Winter Soldier’s head turned away and he left with his superiors, leaving just a broken Natalia and Madame B., who had a victorious wicked grin.

“Another lie…” Madame B. spoke, shaking her head at Natalia and making a disapproving tsk sound. “Let’s see… two weeks? That should do it.”

“No,” Natalia whimpered, reaching for her superior. Madame B. gave her a disgusted look, and left the room, departing through the elevator.

Natalia was locked inside a torture chamber, and left alone with just her lonely thoughts and untreated wounds.

The pain was muted after the first few hours but still near unbearable. Not a sound besides her cries echoed through the room. Her blood stains joined others on the walls and floor, as she fell into her first, uneasy sleep for the next two weeks in the room.

Her eyes closed, shutting out the pain, and simply waited to await her horrors in her sleep instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little bit of insight into bucky and nat's past, but i wanted to leave the rest up to interpretation. Whether you see it as a platonic or romantic relationship they had is up to you! this part is obviously just a short flashback before we start getting into the final parts, and then your questions will all be answered ;) thank you for reading!


	12. Part 12

Natasha roused herself, rolling onto her side. Pain shot through her from various points in her body, and she groaned as she sat up.

The floor underneath her was hard, grated metal, and she stretched her neck, feeling the muscle uncomfortableness from a bad sleep.

As her eyes blinked open, she heard and recognized a low humming sound.

Natasha jolted awake at that moment, breathing heavily and trying to identify her surroundings.

What just happened?

Her head whipped around. There was a smear of blood from her body to the end of this room. A gun inches from her hand. She discovered untreated wounds on her leg and arm. Bullet wounds.

The airport.

Yelena and Bucky.

Natasha attempted to stand, crying out from the sparks of pain the erupted from her wounds. To her left, the cockpit stood, as the quinjet flew seemingly undisturbed through dark clouds.

She escaped.

She was alone and beaten, but she’d escaped.

A wave of dizziness flooded through her and she recognized symptoms of blood loss.

Natasha staggered towards the control panel, powering through her headache. She ripped off the facial mask that had already peeled from her face and tossed it on the ground.

A screen showing flight time had estimated a ten-hour flight, and Natasha realized she’d fallen unconscious for several hours. It’d be eleven in the morning the next day in Belarus by the time she arrived.

She was in no condition to fight anymore.

As the quinjet sped through rainy clouds, Natasha stumbled around, opening drawers and cabinets in search for medical supplies. As she opened a drawer lined with handguns, she took notice on how pale her hands were, now that they lacked a healthy amount of blood. When she finally found a casket of bandages, syringes, pills, needles, and an assortment of gadgets, she had become so weakened she nearly collapsed after making the discovery.

“Come on, get to work,” She muttered to herself through gritted teeth. She fetched a needle and a string of thread. The attachment of the two took some time; her hands were cold enough to be shaking. Slowly, as steady as she could handle, she sewed her skin and flesh back together through each wound. The piercing pain at the moment, at her current state, was almost enough to induce another bout of unconsciousness.

Black threads had been woven through her skin, sealing her most painful open wounds. Natasha continued by locating a gadget inside the casket, shaped like a glue stick. She recognized it from her most recent SHIELD missions. When applied, it wouldn’t act as a weapon. Rather, it would numb the surrounding area of skin for a few hours, so the agent applying would not feel disturbing pain while completing a mission. Finally, she wrapped several layers of bandage around the limbs housing bullet wounds, in case the bleeding started again. She didn’t doubt there might be small fragments, though the bullets had not lodged themselves in her body, rather skewer through, but that concern was forced to the backburner for the time being.

She moved into the cockpit again. Her walk was still unstable, but already slightly better. She located a screen showing the departure and arrival points. Natasha pulled the screen out with her fingers in a swift movement, projecting the screen into the air. Effectively, allowing her to zoom better in on Belarus.

She knew the place well.

She could pinpoint where the Red Room was, but she knew not to land there.

A large forest a few kilometers away, often nestled in a blanket of snow stood. The woods there were what separated the elusive Red Room from a small town. Natasha’s fingers rested on the 2D projection of the forest. Some of her fellow students had died there. On a cold winter’s night her mentor threw a handful of the students into the forest while they slept. A test to see who the strongest was, who would make it back to the Red Room, and who were weak enough to die in the cold.

They didn’t even bother burying the bodies properly. Their corpses rotted and sunk into the earth naturally.

Natasha cleared her throat, and quickly moved the target arrival point from a runway in Minsk to a clearing inside the same forest. The quinjet was still operating with retroreflection panels. Hopefully they wouldn’t detect her, but that was too good to be true. Natasha operated with the knowledge that the Red Room knew exactly where she was at all times, and ran through the structure of the building, remembering hidden rooms and the armory.

Natasha condensed the projection and pushed it back into the screen in the control panel.

In another drawer, to the side of the one where she found the medical supplies, a thick, wool blanket lay packed. Natasha massaged the soft fabric, before taking it out of its place and preparing to spend her last hours on the flight in a safe nap to sleep off the pain, and let her body heal for her soon revenge.

Natasha then swallowed a sleeping pill from a bottle in the casket of supplies, lay on the metal floor, let herself be enveloped by the blanket and prepared for a better, calmer rest before she arrived in Belarus.

***

Her awakening this time was much more peaceful and less confusing. The quinjet’s descent and landing had jostled her awake, and as the engine’s humming faded, Natasha slid out from under the blanket and rose, stretching her muscles again. Her wounds hadn’t opened and bled in her sleep, nor did they hurt terribly anymore.

Natasha suddenly felt her body tense up. Just a few kilometers, less than a half hour brisk walk, stood the place that was the root of her nightmares. The memories she worked her entire life to forget, to ignore the horrific things she did and endured. Her entire life stemmed from that house that was essentially the seventh circle of Hell.

Natasha hesitated for just a moment before she opened the doors, and a cold wind flowed inside the jet. Natasha’s suit was thick enough to keep her warm, although the air wasn’t particularly cold, just small gusts of wind. The day itself seemed rather pleasant from what she could see. The trees were fluffy with dark green leaves, the grass was clean and dry. Save from the rustle of plants and branches from the wind, everything was quiet.

She proceeded to raid the drawers of weapons. She put away her guns she’d used at the airport, not wasting time to reload. A new handgun was slipped into her thigh holster, and she slid a knife, two electric and two smoke bombs, and a pair of electric batons she clicked into one long stick that she slung over her back. She reloaded her bracelets, and then closed up shop in the quinjet armory.

Natasha brushed through her hair with her fingers, violently pushing through knots caused by her scuffles and dried blood. The blood at least blended with her hair color.

She cleaned up quickly and threw a large jacket she found in the same drawer as the blanket was in. A very large jacket, long enough to hide her thigh holster.

Then Natasha stepped out of the invisible quinjet, and allowed the AI inside to shut the doors. She found forth a knife, and stabbed the blade into the ground by the lever that would open the quinjet again, to mark the area. She almost laughed at the possibility of losing the quinjet because she couldn’t find it.

She knew these woods well. To her left, or East, the small town near the Red Room stood. Natasha picked up a rock from the ground and scraped the trunks of each tree leading back to the quinjet and the clearing, and just a five-minute walk later the trees dispersed and led to a natural dirt path leading into the town. Natasha dropped the rock and began traipsing down to the town.

The town itself knew that some sort of dark, secret castle existed a little while away, and stories were told about people they’d encountered there. Some grandfathers and grandmothers told stories that they saw ghosts of little girls in the woods, others that they heard gunshots and screams when they approached this castle. The ghost story of the Winter Soldier was a popular one. As far as the townsfolk knew, the castle was abandoned since World War ll, now just a monument that the government forgot to demolish, or a haunted building. The people would also speak of their friends trying to break into the castle, and never being seen again.

Natasha knew the truth of where those people disappeared to. If they were old enough, they were killed immediately. If they were young enough, they were integrated into the program.

Natasha found out decades after her life in the Red Room when she discovered SHIELD files detailing the Red Room and missing children in Belarus that Yelena had been the younger, almost baby sister of a pair of teenage boys who snuck into the Red Room as a dare. She was placed into the program, having no memory of her previous life. Her brothers were executed and buried in the forest.

She wondered if their missing posters still hung on the walls of the town. Her parents were long dead by this point, anyone who might’ve known her personally was gone.

Natasha had never told Yelena that. To be fair, she only just realized Yelena was still alive and kicking a few days ago, and Natasha only discovered that information a few years ago.

The town was sleepy, a couple of adults walking to a mall in the center of the town, and a few cars driving away. On the edge of the town, a bar stood quietly. Natasha read the sign above the door that stated in Belarusian that the bar was open from 11pm to 1am, but no drinks were served until 5pm. Natasha pushed open the door, and entered.

Despite no alcohol being drunk, the smell of beer lingered throughout the room. The lights were dimmed, instead letting natural light shine through the windows. The entire bar was shaded in dark brown, and a European pop song sounded softly throughout the place, while a small TV in the corner celling broadcasted news. On the left, a long row of barstools clung to a bar, behind which a man stood, leaning over the top, scrolling absentmindedly at his phone. To the right, a row of booths lay in a line down the room, one of which contained a blond boy who seemed focused on writing or sketching something. He glanced up at her arrival, then quickly back down. At the end of the room, that clacking sound of a pool table in use was heard. She saw a couple laugh while playing, and lean on tall, black cue sticks.

Natasha swiped away stray hairs from her cheeks, and stepped forward. Her entrance prompted the guy behind the bar to look at her, do a double take and quickly place down his phone.

“ _Can I get you anything_?” He asked in Belarusian, blinking rapidly as if he was forcing himself out of a stupor. Natasha looked up at the menu. Simple, cafeteria like items were scrawled on a blackboard.

“ _I’ll start with a glass of water, thanks_ ,” Natasha replied, the memory of the language she was quite familiar with rushing back.

The man nodded and started busying himself by finding a glass. Natasha threw a glance at the couple in the back, who seemed unaware of her, before she seated herself on a barstool. Her large jacket made her uncomfortably warm, but taking it off would expose her.

The blond boy in the booth who was attempting to sneak glances at her, thinking she didn’t notice, eventually made Natasha turn her head and look over her shoulder. The boy looked just around eighteen, sketching something as if he was in a hurry. The boy looked up at her again, this time catching her eye, and his cheeks flushed with streaks of pink. Natasha smiled gently at him, assuring him she wasn’t bothered. The boy blinked rapidly, looking flustered, but hesitantly returned the smile. The boy looked like he was about to move, and Natasha turned away, just as the bartender returned with a glass of water.

“ _Ten rubles_ ,” the bartender spoke.

Natasha glanced up at him, her brows furrowed, and let out a sigh, her head falling into her hands. The bartender stared at her expectantly, as Natasha cursed softly and pretended to check the pockets in her jacket.

“ _Here, I got it,”_ a voice behind her said, and Natasha turned to see the blond boy giving her a small smile as he lay down a light purple note, with the number 10 emblazoned in the corner. Natasha hid her own smile of success at her plan, and instead sighed in obvious relief as her drink was paid for. The blond boy eagerly sat down on the stool beside her.

“ _Thank you, you’re very kind_ ,” Natasha replied in a light voice, and the boy grinned back.

“ _It’s nothing. I’m Adrian_ ,” the boy said quickly.

“ _Hi Adrian_ ,” Natasha said, her voice flirtatiously sweet. “ _What are you drawing_?”

Natasha took a sip from her glass, thankful for the immediate burst of life the water gave her body.

Adrian looked surprised that she’d caught him sketching, and his mouth hangs open for a second.

Natasha lifts her brows. “ _Can I see, or is it some secret project_?”

Adrian reluctantly held up his battered brown sketchbook, giving her full view of a rough outline of what looked like a girl in large coat in a bar.

Natasha let a genuine smile escape her carefully chosen act. She could already see he’d begun shading and adding small details, despite her only having been in the bar for a couple minutes.

You should be working on a plan _,_ a voice in her head whispered around her mind.

“ _What is your name_?” Adrian asked, pulling the book away and ducking his head to avoid her seeing his blush.

“ _Elena_ ,” Natasha answered with zero hesitation. A small part of her brain housed a massive collection of names, a majority of them being old friends from the Red Room. She’d even used the name Yelena once on a mission from the KGB over two decades ago.

Adrian picked out an ink pen from a leather case and scrawled her fake name on the bottom corner.

Natasha didn’t know exactly why she was entertaining this boy. Every minute spent here was a waste, a minute she could’ve spent finding Bucky and Yelena, breaking into the Red Room.

Maybe because it was the first time she felt like she could have a real conversation. This boy, Adrian, didn’t recognize her. He wasn’t scared of her, or idolizing her as a hero. He just saw her as a girl he was crushing on.

Something about that made her feel more like the secret spy she had killed to become.

“ _You’re very talented_ ,” Natasha commented, after Adrian finished with a swirl on the ‘a’ in her fake name.

Adrian seemed to lose his fluster, now that he realized Natasha hadn’t been freaked out by him watching her, and he regained some confidence.

“ _You think so_?” Adrian said with a grin.

They might be dead already _,_ the voice continued in her mind.

“ _Absolutely_ ,” Natasha said, taking another sip. She glanced at the leather case of pencils. “ _Do you mind if I borrow a piece of paper and a pencil? I need to write something down. I have a few errands and I just have the worst memory_.”

Adrian bought it. “ _Sure, of course_!” He ripped off a spare piece of paper and dug in his case for a pencil, handing it to her in a hurry.

Adrian sneaks a smile at her, before returning to his sketch. Natasha lets the pencil hover above the paper in her fingers for a moment.

Where to start? The plan seems simple as it is. Break in, find out what the hell is happening, and make it out with her life, and hopefully Bucky and Yelena’s.

_The Red Room was reactivated._

The first five words seem obvious, even as Natasha writes it on the wrinkled paper. Yet there’s so much she doesn’t know still. Bits of information lost on a large canvas that would tell her the answer.

It’s a puzzle, Natasha told herself. That’s all it is. A puzzle, every piece of information is a clue. First you piece together what is obvious.

Natasha continued writing, scribbling down bullet points for what she knew and what she guessed.

_The Red Room has expendable soldiers._

The white woman showed no hesitation in killing her own when Natasha interrogated the man in the warehouse in SoHo. Murdering traitors is not just a sign of unforgiving, but a sign of power, especially in numbers.

_They were watching me. They were always watching me._

They spied on her. They found her because of her files, the Triskelion in D.C., all her secrets leaked for everyone to see. The Red Room found out she was alive and fighting. They found her in Norway, they chased after her from the ballet, they watched her from the mall, they were at the airport. They might even be here now.

Natasha let her eyes move to shoot a glance at Adrian, the bartender, and the couple in the back.

_They planned the assassination of the head of the FSB._

She saw the very plans themselves to kill a Russian leader in Iowa, at the ballet. A leader of the Russian equivalent of the FBI.

_At the same time Yelena was hired to kill the lead dancer._

Natasha squinted at her notes so far. Killing a leader would create a division between the US and Russia. Why would the Red Room need political division? The Red Room breeds spies, not chaos. Why would they kill their own?

Natasha’s lips twitched into a smile.

Because they wanted him gone.

Natasha cursed herself for not making it click sooner. Of course, they’d want him gone. A quick, brutal exit with an immediate need for replacement. The FSB would have a responsibility for their own espionage. Natasha didn’t even feel the need to look the former and current leaders up to know that one of them had disagreed with the practice of the Red Room, and another stood by it entirely.

_Bucky and Yelena are not coincidences._

Natasha and Yelena are the only two survivors of the Red Room. Bucky aided in their training. Of course, the Red Room would require them all back. And what better way than forcing the three together? An enemy of an enemy is always an ally.

_They killed a CIA agent._

Natasha remembered the man she saw boarding the plane to Belarus. A former SHIELD agent turned CIA in the wake of SHIELD’s death. It clicked for her in that instant. The CIA had a hunch, just like her. So, they sent someone in to investigate, secretly. The airport was the scene of a yet another assassination.

They knew, and they killed him. Why the Red Room craved such a dramatic, fiery death, she didn’t quite know, though she didn’t care either. A distraction, perhaps? Get the government to claim terrorism so they didn’t catch the death of an agent. The Red Room were never planning on flying to Belarus in that plane. She wondered if the man she’d interrogated and tortured was one of the assassins for the crime.

_She left me there._

The white woman left Natasha at the airport. Proved that she had captured Bucky and Yelena, then left. Let her escape not just from the Red Room agents, but also from the police, the government. She let Natasha get in a jet and fly to meet her back in the Red Room.

_It’s too easy._

It’s been too easy. Finding Bucky and Yelena, finding one of the agents in a mall, getting information. It was too easy.

Natasha put the pencil down. Adrian was now using the side of a pencil to shade a corner on his page.

Natasha took a sip of her water. The click and clack sound of a pool table in use continued to flow to her ears, the bartender was leaning and watching the news, rather intently.

Natasha moved her gaze to the television, where a reporter was discussing something with a grave expression. She squinted. She caught one word on the bottom stretch of text on the screen: missing.

“ _Can you turn that up, please?_ ” Natasha spoke up at the bartender, who shrugged and reached for a remote under his bar stand, obeying her silently. He stayed glued to the screen.

The clacking sound from the pool table was gone.

_“—ask that people be on the lookout for three missing Norwegian teenagers,”_ the reporter said in Belarusian.

The screen flashed three images, and Natasha felt her muscles turn to stone.

The girl. Her brown-haired boyfriend. The freckly young desk clerk. One of them she’d spoken to in the motel. Two had been shot dead in their rooms in Norway.

“— _there have been reportings of sightings of these missing teens in Belarus—”_

Natasha’s eyes widened, and her chest started heaving. No, no it shouldn’t be.

Natasha heard a series of clicks far behind her.

They were dead. How could they be missing. They were in the motel. Two of them dead in the motel. They were dead. Not missing. They were dead. Not missing. They were dead.

Natasha turned in her stool, unable to hide the look of horror splashed on her face. Adrian’s expression filled with concern.

No, Natasha whispered to herself. No, please don’t make me do this.

Natasha let her head face the couple in the back with the pool table. The girl met her eyes, and in her hands, Natasha saw a pool stick transformed into a rifle. A dark-haired boy stood stone faced behind her.

The very same girl who was giddy at meeting her hero days ago was now emotionlessly holding a gun to Natasha’s face.

“ _What is wrong_ —”

Natasha dove onto the ground the moment their eyes met, sending Adrian into a stuttering mess, looking around wildly. Natasha reached for one of the legs of the stool he sat on, and pulled it forward. A bullet flew just above his head and straight through the door of the bar.

Adrian tumbled to the ground, grunting in pain as he landed horribly on his barstool.

“ _What are you doing_!”

Natasha heard someone scream, and saw the bartender cowering away from the shooters, screaming at them. The girl turned her gaze to him, instead.

Then the boy behind her put a bullet in the bartender’s head with a loud bang.

Adrian was breathing heavily, frozen in his spot as they faced Natasha again.

Natasha’s hand flew inside her jacket for a gun, and moved in front of Adrian, shielding him. She fired once, hitting the girl’s leg. The boy walked past his wincing girlfriend and raised his own shotgun. Natasha shot at his arm, and scrambled to her feet. Adrian’s arms were locked around his legs, and rocking side to side as he cried at the scene in front of him.

Natasha reached for him and attempted to pull him to his feet.

“ _Get up!_ ” She hissed at him. If she didn’t get him out of here, he’d be dead.

Or turned, like the two shooting at her had been.

“ _Do you know them_?” Adrian whimpered, ducking his head. Natasha aimed with her gun, squeezing the trigger and shot at the two again, this time just at the floor near their feet to distract them.

Adrian stumbled to his feet, his hands clasped on his ears at the loud gunshot noises. Natasha hooked her hand around the boy’s arm, and sprinted out of the bar, firing multiple shots behind her back. She proceeded to pull him around the corner of the bar, hiding in a small alleyway.

“ _Do you have a car_?” Natasha asked with a hard voice, peering out to see them walking out of the bar and looking around.

Adrian nodded wildly, his eyes red and terrified.

“ _Get out of here. Now. Don’t slow down. Don’t stop. Just keep driving_ ,” Natasha whispered.

“ _What? Why? What’s happening? Who are you?_ ” Adrian asked, trembling.

“ _Trust me_ ,” Natasha whispered. “ _If you want to live, get out of this_ _town_.”

“Natalia!” A cold, female voice shouted, and Natasha saw the girl almost twirling around in the street, looking for her. “Come out and fight!”

A few passersby had spotted the action and were sprinting in the other direction, screaming for help.

“ _Natalia_ \--?” Adrian muttered, looking at her.

Natasha shoved him down the alleyway. “ _Run. Now_!”

Adrian staggered backwards before he started moving, quickening his pace into a sprint and running out of sight.

Natasha’s fingers slipped into her jacket, finding the cool metal of a gun.

The girl’s boyfriend marched out stoically, his eyes flashing around, searching for her as the girl continued taunting her with a high-pitched voice in English.

Natasha squinted into the alleyway opposite her, across the street, and noticed a flicker of something quick passing in front of light. She lifted her gaze to the roof and saw a dark figure suddenly jump out of her sight, behind a chimney.

Her grip tightened around her gun, and she slowly pulled it out. Her breath started quickening, as she willed herself to shoot people who just days ago had been too kind to her.

She had to. There was no way to get out without first being taken in.

The girl’s shouts echoed around her, but only one voice was clear in her mind.

_The best strategy is knowing your enemy._

Her own voice, around five years ago. An argument she had on tactics with Clint, during a mission in Taiwan. Common advice of course, but it was her voice that convinced Clint. They won that mission. Tricking their opponents by feeding their ego and letting them think—

Natasha raised her hand, interrupting her thoughts and fired two shots. A bullet each landed in the girl and her boyfriend’s head. The two collapsed to the ground. There were no more citizens around left to scream, but she heard the distance sound of sirens.

Natasha then walked out into the street, stopping at the girl’s body. Blood leaked out of her headwound, creating a pool that circled her head, like a bloody halo.

“I’m sorry.”

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

A slow clapping sound disrupted her thoughts. Natasha spun around and located the noise.

It was her. The white woman, smiling at her as she stalked towards her from the shadows of an alleyway. Multiple mercenaries jumped off one story roofs and slid out of hiding spots, surrounding Natasha.

The white woman was using the same trick in Norway: Distract her while someone else takes her down. But this time Natasha, saw the man approaching her from behind with the tranquilizer in her peripheral vision with a subtle twist of her head.

The white woman stopped just a few feet away from her.

A small thought in her head prodded Natasha to shoot her right now.

Then Natasha dropped the gun, which made a clattering sound on the cement.

The white woman took her hands out of her pockets of the white coat, and raised them to her sides.

“Welcome home, Natalia,” she said with a light kind voice, though her eyes told a different story.

Natasha met her glaring look, and waited for the man to knock her out once more.

The last thing she saw in her mind after he stabbed her in the neck with a tranquilizer was the white woman’s horrifyingly kind smile, staring down at her unconscious body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey long time no see!
> 
> I'm so SO sorry for not updating for a while. This chapter took a while to write, i had a period of writer's block and i'm entering exam period so i've been a little stressed and i hope you can forgive me :)
> 
> I'm not abandoning this story, however long it may take i have an ending planned out and i will see it through.
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this chapter though, calming down from everything that's happened and letting Natasha breathe and heal, even for just a few hours lol. Hopefully, following how Natasha is theorizing and what you just read you might be close to understanding what's going on. 
> 
> thank you so much for reading!


	13. Part 13

When Natasha regained consciousness this time, she chose to keep her eyes shut.

Cold, hard metal was shackled around her wrists, which lay on another cool hard surface. Her head was lying near her right shoulder, and her body was upright against a curved back end. Her ankles were also chained up, and held back from moving to the legs of another metal object, and Natasha quickly pieced the fact that she was in a chair, locked to the table that her arms were positioned on to. Her pockets felt empty, and her arms missed the heavy, overlarge jacket that had been wrapped around them. Of course, they’d ransacked her for weapons, leaving her in her now empty suit. Even her Widow’s bite had been disabled.

She wondered which prison spot in the Red Room they’d locked her in. If she knew, she might be able to plot an escape route.

She gained back her hearing, and managed to identify female and male voices conversing quietly around her.

Natasha sat silently, frozen, simply listening to the conversations around her. Every once in a while, the sound of chains moving reached her ears, and she considered the possibility that she might not be the only one locked up.

“It should’ve worn off by now,” a young, man’s voice spoke out. “How can she still be asleep?”

Natasha waited for the excuse they might say, hoping to use it to stay under for a little longer and map out her surroundings.

“She’s not asleep,” a cold woman’s voice said, and Natasha mentally cursed. “I can just see the gears turning in her head… She wants us to think she’s under so she can listen to us talk and discover something she can use against us.”

Natasha raised a brow, letting the two people know she heard them, and finally opened her eyes and adjusted her position.

Her vision focused immediately. A woman across the short table Natasha had been propped up on, a and a man, almost a teenager, leaning by the wall. The room was small, very small in fact, and not recognizable to Natasha. Snow white walls and marble floors, with no windows.

Natasha met the woman’s gaze.

This was her. Finally.

The white woman, still dressed in her signature color. The coat had been taken off, but tight leggings and a white blouse still conveyed her style. Light, curled brown hair fell gently down to her elbows, making her blue eyes glisten like ice.

“She’s clever,” the white woman commented, still conversing to the young man while locking on Natasha. “She just thinks she’s the only clever one here.”

Natasha didn’t move, only letting her eyes flit around. The white woman didn’t move her stare, however.

“Don’t you Natalia?”

Natasha held back any response, waiting for her to continue. Her silence was sure to push the woman into some monologue.

“Ignoring me won’t make me disappear, Natalia,” the white woman continued, her malevolent grin still present.

“I make a habit of knowing who I’m talking to,” Natasha finally said, tilting her head to the side.

The white woman’s grin spread. “There she is.”

She faced the man leaning against the wall, and nodded her head. In a swift moment, the man left through a door behind Natasha, which shut with a loud echo. Natasha looked back at the white woman, who was taking a seat opposite her.

Natasha tapped her fingers with what little movement she could on the table.

“My name is Ana,” she finally said, and Natasha searched through her mental database to match her up to anyone. She knew a lot of Ana’s, but none like the one in front of her.

“Simple,” Natasha said casually, like she was speaking with a friend.

The white woman, or Ana, played along. Her grin lost the scary part, and adopted a more friendly side that Natasha saw right through.

“Perhaps,” Ana replied, leaning back in her seat. “My mother named me Anastasia, but I stuck with Ana. Easy for people to remember.”

Natasha caught the hint at the end, casually reminding them that Ana wasn’t a friend, but her enemy.

“Perfect English too,” Natasha continued, looking Ana up and down. “Did your mother teach you, or were you not born here?”

“No, I was born here, as was my mother,” Ana said, shaking her head gently. “Someone in my position should know the most languages they can.”

“And what position is that?”

Ana’s smile grew again, and she clapped three times slowly. “I must say, seeing you in action like this, it really is a pleasure. I’ve been hearing about this infamous Black Widow since I was a child, albeit with an utter hatred for you from my mother. But she respected you just as much.”

And then Natasha discerned why Ana had looked so familiar, and let a small ‘ah’ of understanding.

“You’re Madame B’s daughter,” Natasha said, a smile of realization spreading across her face. Ana almost giggled at her response.

“Wow,” Ana said, through a smile that showed practically all her teeth. “You really are good. Better than the airheads I’m surrounded by all day.”

“She gave you the serum,” Natasha said, her face as serious as Ana’s was elated.

Ana’s smile slipped just a little, but she nodded. “Obviously. My mother was born during the first world war, you think her daughter would look as young as I am today? Yes. The serum she gave all twenty-eight of you, she spoon-fed to me with my cough medicine.”

“When were you born?” Natasha asked flatly.

“When were _you_ born?”

“Well I assume you know.”

“You assume incorrect. I’ve heard several accounts. Your SHIELD files state 1984, but we all know the lie that that is.”

Natasha hesitated for a moment. Only two souls alive knew her exact date of birth. Bucky Barnes, who she revealed the secret to during a calm night many years ago, and Clint Barton, who found out during takeout after a mission through joking about her alleged ‘old soul’. None of the other girls spoke of personal information in the Red Room so neither did she. But she assumed the girls, which included Yelena, were born around the same time.

“1928,” she answered after a beat.

Ana nodded, and gestured to herself. “1962. It’s an odd feeling, isn’t it? Staying young for decades while the world passes you by? And with most of the Red Room novitiates getting killed in training, it’s only really you and me.”

Natasha let her mid wander to her only recent teammate. “Maybe not.”

Ana’s smile faded again. “Of course. There’s your famous partner, America’s propaganda personalized.”

“That’s one way to put him,” Natasha said without any warmth, hinting to her to move away from her Avengers teammates.

Ana wasn’t slow like Natasha had hoped but also dreaded. A slow enemy was easy to out trick, but boring to talk to.

“I meant no disrespect to your patriotic friendship,” Ana said with a fake apologetic tone.

Although Natasha enjoyed games like this, she had enough of the chatting when she didn’t know if Bucky and Yelena were alive.

“I’m not here to be your friend, Ana,” Natasha said coldly.

In contrast to the drop in her tone, Ana’s smile only grew. “Oh, I know. You’re here to be the hero.”

Natasha’s jaw clenched, and she already knew the path Ana was about to go down.

“My mother told me all about what you’ve done,” Ana said, leaning forward in her seat. “The body count, its… truly impressive. After we discovered you were still alive in America, in SHIELD of all the disgusting organizations, and we realized what you had become, I always wondered. How you dare to call yourself one of them.”

Natasha didn’t let her fists clenched, but she felt the urge rushing through her fingers.

“An Avenger. Earth’s mightiest heroes. But the things you’ve done in your colorful career…Have you ever told your little friends? I imagine they might not want you on the team, should they know the number of people you killed, the families you tore apart.”

Natasha swallowed. This was the turning point, she told herself. It’s all a game. She’s trying to break you down from the inside.

Usually, the games that tried to deconstruct her as a villain never worked.

But now that Natasha was actually trying to be the good guy, she felt her heart thump faster and more painfully at what Ana was hinting at.

“You came to Belarus, to the Red Room, to be the hero. To be the good guy,” Ana continued, her eyes not moving once from Natasha.

Natasha didn’t budge an inch.

“We’re the same, you know?” Ana spoke. “We know we’re doing good, but we’re just not actually good. We want so desperately to be the hero, but the ends never justify the means. The people you saved, Natalia, don’t make up for the people you killed. Your blood drenched past keeps you from the mantle your friends wear.”

Natasha un-clenched her jaw and let herself smirk. “You think you know me, don’t you? Because you perused a few polished but corrupt SHIELD files. You think you can get to me, playing on what you stupidly believe are my weakness.”

“Don’t play that card, Natalia,” Ana chuckled. “Your bluff is good, but not enough to fool me. Everyone has a weakness. Don’t hate me because I found yours. It’s a simple one, after all. You’re scared. Because you know deep down, you’re not a good guy.”

“I can understand, Natalia. I’ve done bad things to get my way. To win.” Ana reassured. “I’m the only one who knows what its like to be called the bad guy for doing what must be done. Your country called you an enemy of the state when they read your files. My people wanted to imprison me when I spoke of my own plans. But they had to be done, didn’t they? That’s why—”

“You assassinated the head of the FSB. Because you wanted to rebuild the Red Room, and he refused.”

“Correct,” Ana congratulated. “They all called me crazy, you know.”

“I would too,” Natasha said with a careless tone. “What’s your plan exactly? Keep creating more Red Room students to do your bidding? The cold war is over.”

“Only the naïve say such things,” Ana said lightly. “War is never over. One ends and the next one begins like clockwork. There will always be conflict. And with conflict, comes people in the line of fire. People from my towns were murdered by war, my entire family was in fact. The men were executed and the women…well…My mother left the town to work with the Red Room before that happened to her as well, guaranteeing her some position of safety during the cold war. American spies executed my father while I watched in my room. They threw him in the mud and shot him.”

“Well, that’s all _very_ tragic,” Natasha said with heavy sarcasm. “but I’d like to know why someone who cares about the lives of innocents plans on utilizing a murder house. The Red Room was created because of the war.”

“And now, it will be used to breed the best army of our time,” Ana answered. “Warriors like you.”

Natasha adjusted in her seat at that, finally getting to the point where she’d get true answers.

“Modified killers. Ageless assassins. There won’t be a war anymore, Natalia, just a wipeout of the corrupt. It’s already begun. We’ll begin the killings of those who attempt to stop us, then those who prevent our world. The innocent, will for once, be spared.”

“I think HYDRA beat you to that,” Natasha muttered, picking at a spot on the table absentmindedly.

“HYDRA consisted of brainwashed idiots, who believed they had the answers to perfect elimination of humans,” Ana said with irritation, standing up and pacing around.

“Forgive me if I’m mistaken,” Natasha said, wanting to lift her hands in anger. Ana glanced at the chains moving.

“But I recall a great number of innocents being killed in a crashing airplane just a day ago.”

“An accident,” Ana shrugged. “If you hadn’t intervened my men would’ve taken the target who dared to inspect this establishment out at the airport itself, in a bathroom.”

Natasha almost laughed. “You don’t think that’s what world leaders believe when innocents get killed? ‘It was just an accident’?

Ana gritted her teeth. “I knew someone corrupted by American superheroes wouldn’t understand—”

“Oh no no no, I understand,” Natasha growled, relaxing back in her seat. “You loved getting a read on me, didn’t you? Well let me tell you a little about yourself. You don’t care about innocents. You’re just angry. Angry that the bad men killed your father. Let me tell you something, _Anastasia_. If spies killed your dad, then he wasn’t an angel, and you’re smart enough to know that.”

“You don’t want the innocents spared. You want the people you want to be saved spared. And you want revenge on America, so you incite the next cold war by having a Russian head assassinated in America, and planned a plane to crash at an American airport. You think my bluff is easy to call? Sweetheart, a child could see through yours. You’re a little liar.”

Ana glowered at her, but lifted her chin up to try and hide her fury.

“A talented one, but nonetheless a liar. You’ve been playing my friend and using the sad story to gain my sympathy, so maybe, just maybe I’d hear out your plan. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t have much of that left, and certainly not for you,” Natasha relished in the fact that she was making her enemy furious despite being in chains.

“All you want is the revenge, right? And when Russia lost the cold war, you wanted it even more. So you want the Red Room back. You have the science now to create the best killers that can even take out the Avengers. You want me, because I know America. You want me to train them, don’t you? Because the assassins you sent after me in New York were pretty weak, I’ll say.”

“Get over yourself, Ana. Grow up. People die, people make mistakes and get killed for it. Why do you think I was created? To give children candy for being a good kid? I was made to kill enemies, just like the American spies were made to kill your father.”

She half expected Ana to yell at her by this point, and mentally applauded the fact that Ana hadn’t snapped yet. But the look Ana was giving her was enough.

Ana was silent for a moment, then she spoke up in a dangerously quiet voice.

“My mother always loved you for being the prime killer, the best spy in the world. She also hated you for betraying your country. But all she ever talked about was you. I see why. You’re even better than your reputation. But I made sure to win her attention this time, by continuing what she wanted, creating a perfect world. And I caught you. The infamous Black Widow. Not everyone can say that. Not her.”

Ana returned easily back to her position of power over Natasha.

“You think it was easy, don’t you? Getting out of that base in Iowa, beating the information about me from that hack in SoHo, flying to surprise me in Belarus. You love being in control, you love calling the shots.”

“Let me shatter your world, Natalia,” Ana almost whispered. “You did _exactly_ what I wanted you to do. I’ve listened to your stories from my mother for decades. I’ve read about you, I’ve studied you. Its difficult to catch something like you in a web, isn’t it? The Black Widow always finds a way out. But I knew how. I tricked you, Natalia. I created a game for you. A puzzle. A series of questions and clues. Who am I? Why was I hunting you? Why did I kill someone at an opera? Why did I bring down a plane? I orchestrated it all, to bring you home. You couldn’t resist a game like that, not after losing your role as the spy when suddenly the whole world knew about you. I made a game in which you think you’re always winning. I had to prove to my superiors you were still good, after all the mindless robot and alien brawn battles. Your fight is always excellent, but they doubted your mind.”

Natasha swore in her head again, but didn’t let her expression betray her feelings.

“This time, I was in control,” Ana finished with a winning smile. “And I showed them all that I was the one who captured Natalia Romanova and brought her back home. I win.”

“You still have questions, don’t you?” Ana asked, pursing her lips after a what felt like minutes of silence. “I didn’t just need you, of course. You’re not the only survivor. I needed Yelena Belova. I needed the Winter Soldier. Both assets the Red Room stupidly lost. You ever wonder why Yelena was at the ballet? I put her there. I assigned her to kill a ballerina at the show. A distraction for anyone who witnessed the assassination of the head of the FSB, and an organic way for you two to meet. Unfortunately, while you two were escaping the ballet in a stolen car, she recognized the one who she’d met with for the mission driving behind you two on the road. I was worried at first. I thought Yelena would share the face she recognized chasing after her. But she’s just like you. A lone wolf, keeping secrets. Maybe you would’ve figured that out if you actually knew how to work as a team.”

Natasha remembered that night. Yelena’s hesitation in shooting the tires out from the car that had been tailing them, just before their fight in the forest.

“And the Winter Soldier, of course. I was concerned about his appearance, but he didn’t let me down. You haven’t figured out why he was at the ballet either, did you?”

Natasha blinked, then put the final pieces of the puzzle together. “He was the intended assassin,” Natasha responded flatly.

“Good girl!” Ana giggled. “After your red-white-and-blue friend broke him out of our good work, we knew we’d lost him. But he showed up, out of pure curiosity, he showed up. He remembered the mission, and wanted to see what would happen, and met you again.”

“I have all three of you in the palm of my hand, ready to revert back to your true nature. You’re not a hero, Natalia. You’re not an Avenger. You’re an assassin, a spy, and you must accept that’s all you’ll ever be.

Ana pressed a button on the side of the table, and a buzz sounded. The door behind Natasha opened, and multiple men and women with blank expressions entered the room.

Ana brushed the arm of one of the men, and Natasha’s stomach suddenly felt like it was writhing with snakes.

“Recognize him, Natalia?”

Natasha didn’t forget a face. And that was the man who helped her gain her bearings in Iowa and pointed her East, the one who looked at her shockingly covered in blood and dressed in a tattered suit.

She wondered if all these people in this room were innocents Ana had turned, or wiped to become an emotionless army.

“You helped me find some more people to use,” Ana said with a wicked smile. “Do you see? Everything you touch turns to death. What’s the point in playing hero?”

Ana motioned to the man to go towards Natasha.

“Oh, I forgot to ask,” Ana said with a lighthearted tone, like they were still friends. “Did you like seeing your Norwegian fans again?”

Natasha didn’t answer. The man from Iowa reached for Natasha’s arms, and unchained them from the table. She was still locked up, but no longer to the chair or table.

“Come, Natalia,” Ana said. “I have an old friend you should meet. And _you_ , have some still-alive allies you can say a final goodbye to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew this chapter took a while, i really enjoyed finally creating the villain!! We're in the third act here, which means we're gonna be coming to a close soon, but i'll say it now, this story has been so much fun to write and if you're still reading despite these long breaks in between chapters i really really thank you! a kudos, a comment, really helps motivate so don't hesitate to leave one, and thank you so much for reading!


	14. Part 14

The elevator.

The elevator again.

The dark, dirty, rickety elevator that brought Natasha to the place where she lost the only person she trusted. To the place she was locked in and starved anytime she disobeyed.

The elevator was packed this time, not just her and the headmistress of the Red Room. Natasha stood in the middle, her ankles chained, her wrists chained, and another chain around her waist that the man from Iowa held. Ana’s other mercenaries stood as still and silent as dolls around them, with Ana leading them at the front.

Natasha stared at the back of Ana’s hair, focusing on a single few strands that flowed in the cold air that surrounded them as the elevator slowly descended.

Ana had the power.

Now, Natasha could fight her way out. If everyone surrounding her were innocent people Ana brainwashed, they wouldn’t be nearly as good as Natasha. She could’ve fought them in the street outside, but then they might’ve shot her, weakened her, and Ana wouldn’t have talked to her alone.

Except Ana had Natasha’s allies. Ana could run and kill or turn Bucky and Yelena if Natasha didn’t comply.

Ana had been playing a game this whole time. She’d successfully captured the Black Widow.

But Natasha would win the game. She had to.

The elevator made an echoed clang when it reached the final floor, and the gates opened, allowing the group to enter the floor.

The circular room was almost unchanged, only the tech seemed to have been updated.

Natasha still saw the dried blood on the walls.

Three people were waiting for her arrival in the room.

On the left, bound to the wall and gagged, lay a half-conscious Yelena. She was alive, but without any energy. Her blonde hair was tangled and dirtied, and her clothes were ripped, revealing fresh wounds.

She’d been tortured.

On the right, in virtually the same position with the same restraints, lay Bucky, who lifted his head at their arrival.

Natasha spotted the newly spilled blood on his clothes as well.

“I hope you don’t mind, Natalia,” Ana said in a mocking tone. “But the Red Room never forgets. Your friends betrayed us just as much as you did. We couldn’t kill them, but that didn’t stop us from having a little fun first.”

Bucky recognized Natasha amongst the men and women surrounding her, and let out a muffled cry that woke Yelena out of her wooziness. Yelena didn’t yell out at the sight of her, but Natasha could see the realization of what had happened as she stared at the chains around Natasha’s limbs.

In the center of the room, the mechanisms and chair the once had the opportunity to electrocute you into forgetting everything had been replaced. A white, comfortable looking chair, like the one you might see at the dentist’s had taken its place. It was surrounded by machines that had a sort of arm reaching towards the chair.

But it was the person standing in the center that truly gripped Natasha’s attention, sending a shiver that no one but that person could inflict.

Madame B. Not a day older than the last time she saw her. Dressed in a fine silver and ruby red dress, black heels, blonde hair up in the tight bun it always was in.

Madame B.’s expression was unchanging as she laid her eyes on Natasha, and took several small steps towards her. Her hands were up and touching, her pointer fingers tapping repeatedly, like she was analyzing Natasha.

Of _course_ Ana would’ve given her own mother the anti-aging serum. Why not? Keep your mother alive with you so she can watch you trick the student who escaped her.

Natasha tried to keep her demeanor calm. She always could. She’d tricked other spies, drug lords, terrorists, even a God. Yet she didn’t doubt Madame B. could see the fear in her eyes. The mere presence of her old mentor made her skin prickle and crawl.

Madame B. was perhaps the only person in the entirety of Natasha’s nearly ninety years of life that terrified her to her core.

Madame B. stopped just in front of Natasha to what appeared to be Ana’s glee.

She tilted her head side to side, looking her former student up and down. Natasha followed her movement, waiting for her to speak.

Madame B. didn’t speak. Instead, she rose her hand as fast as lightning moved and struck Natasha across the face.

The reaction was silent, and Natasha let her head hang to the side, her hair clouding her features. Her cheek stung, a burning feeling creeping around the side of her face. Then she slowly rose her head again, facing Madame B. with no retaliation.

“Stand up straight.” Madame B. uttered with a coldness that challenged the air in the room.

Natasha tried to reach into her core, find the strength to stand up to this woman, but somehow her in control demeanor failed in front of the woman who had caused the most pain in Natasha’s life.

Ana seemed to relish seeing Natasha in such a weak position.

Then Madame B. gripped Natasha’s jaw with her fingers, and Natasha felt like spikes of ice were locking her head to face her.

“A good black widow would never have been caught,” Madame B. spoke. She turned her head delicately to glance at Bucky and Yelena, then back to Natasha. She released her grip violently but continued to look down at her.

“I thought I taught you of the weakness that is love. I suppose your lessons weren’t hard enough. Relationships make you vulnerable, Natalia.”

Madame B. nodded at her daughter, who in turn brandished a long, serrated knife, and stalked towards Bucky.

Natasha felt her fingers curl into fists, and Ana stared her straight down as she lifted the blade, and slowly pierced Bucky’s right forearm. The tip of the blade dragged down to his wrist, leaving behind a thin trail of blood.

Madame B. seemingly ignored the torture behind her, instead gazing intently on Natasha’s expression.

Natasha felt her heartbeat in her face as she tried to appear impassive. Ana’s mouth contorted into a sick smile at her struggle. Then she used the blade to open up Bucky’s wound, eliciting a pain filled gasp from him.

“It is true,” Madame B. said amongst Bucky’s cries as Ana continued digging with the blade. “That anger is a true motivator.” She watched Natasha struggle against the chains and take deep breaths to calm herself. She watched her wince every time Bucky groan at the pain.

“But anger is the death of a spy. Vengeance is the death of the Black Widow.”

Natasha raised her head, no longer bothering to hide her silent rage.

“My vengeance is what’s gonna kill you,” Natasha said so quietly she assumed only Madame B. could hear. “I’ll promise you that.”

Ana seemed to lose her wicked grin for a moment at that, but Madame B. didn’t falter.

“Don’t be dramatic when you’re in chains, Natalia.”

With that, Ana halted her torture and moved back, looking at her mother with pride.

Natasha moved her gaze away from her old mentor. Bucky was bleeding out and Yelena was openly glaring at Ana with so much anger even Natasha blinked in surprise. The white chair in the middle was so contrasted to the dark interior it almost blinded her.

Ana caught what Natasha was staring at.

“Oblivion via electrocution is outdated,” Ana said, gesturing to the center of the room. “And based on him—” Ana nodded at Bucky, who was clutching his arm, “—is not a method that works forever. So, I found one that did.”

And with another nod from her, one of her mercenaries walked up to her, holding a black case up. Ana opened the top delicately, pulling out a silver handgun with a long barrel.

“Pretty, isn’t it?”

Natasha noted the way she gripped the gun. She’d clearly used one before, but the placement of her fingers indicated that she wasn’t the most experienced.

“All it takes is one of these, anywhere in your body,” Ana whispered. “All I have to do is shoot you. The bullet doesn’t kill. It’s small, and incredibly thin, and breaks down when it’s inside your body. It releases this chemical compound I created—” Ana smiled with pride at herself, “—that destroys all your memories. They aren’t changed, they’re obliterated, gone for the rest of your days.”

Madame B. didn’t look at her daughter with pride exactly, more like acceptance, and Natasha looked back and forth between the two quickly. Ana glanced at her mother with a smile she did not return.

Ana’s smile faded into the cold expression of a leader, and her voice rang out a command. “Bring him in.”

The elevator behind Natasha creaked open, and out stepped another one of Ana’s emotionless along with a chained, terrified, very familiar blond boy.

“ _Elena?”_

Natasha didn’t move an inch.

“Elena, huh?” Ana giggled, watching the boy from the bar gaze wildly at the torture room. “Oh, poor boy, he has no idea what you are!”

Natasha didn’t even meet Adrian’s eyes. She didn’t know if she had the strength to look into the eyes of a boy about to lose his mind.

Ana only had to jerk her head an inch for her minions to roughly push Adrian against his cries of confusion into the white chair, and in seconds, the mechanical arm twisted around his body, locking his head into place, and the chains around his wrists and ankles held him in place despite his fighting.

“ _Elena help me!”_ Adrian screamed.

“You didn’t really think I was gonna let him ride off into the sunset, did you, Natalia?” Ana asked, aiming her gun. Madame B. stepped to the side, watching Adrian with the least amount of curiosity Natasha had ever seen.

Ana’s smirk slid off when Natasha refused to look at Adrian, and mumbled something in Russian in an exasperated tone.

And then one of her minions grabbed Natasha’s head, jerking it roughly to stare right down at Adrian’s struggling body, tears running down his cheeks.

Ana stepped in front of Natasha’s view, raising an eyebrow mockingly and pointing the gun directly at Adrian’s head. Like she was waiting. Waiting for Natasha to beg.

“ _Elena_?” Adrian pleaded, his cheeks glistening in the cold white lights.

Natasha met Ana’s eyes, who was looking at her expectantly.

“Don’t do this,” Natasha finally said quietly. Ana’s eyebrow lifted even higher.

“I’m sorry the Americans killed your father,” Natasha said, dropping any harshness or roughness in her voice. “But Adrian’s innocent. He’s just a kid, in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’s not who you want revenge on. You want revenge on the Americans, because you lost the war. You want revenge on me, because your mother painted me as the enemy. Don’t kill more innocents.”

Ana blinked, clearly listening to Natasha’s little speech intently, and her silver gun lost the stability in her grip. Her eyes had widened slightly, and moved from Natasha’s gaze, to her mother, who hadn’t said a word since and clearly seemed nonchalant about the entire situation.

Ana met Natasha’s eyes again.

The she squeezed the trigger and fired a bullet into Adrian’s head.

Natasha hid her wince at the gunfire, and was unable to move her stare from Adrian’s essentially frozen body. She wondered how the process of going from a bullet in the brain to a faceless soldier controlled by Ana.

Ana placed the silver gun back in the black case, and nodded to some of her men to walk away, taking the elevator up.

“I do care about innocents,” Ana said, as if she was consoling Natasha. “I care about my innocents. My people. The men who fought and lost, the women and children who were in the line of fire, I care about them. And once you’re obeying me, and you’re training my men, we’ll be unstoppable, and we’ll give my innocents back the victory they deserved.”

“We have guests to greet, Anastasia,” Madame B. said flatly. “Enough with this nonsensical speech.”

Ana’s mouth twisted, before forming back into a smile.

“Of course, mother,” Ana said, and motioned at the few remaining men and women in the room. They quickly dragged Natasha to the ground, hooking the chains onto one of the mechanisms next to Adrian’s unmoving body.

Ana, Madame B. and Ana’s mercenaries all loaded into the elevator the moment it came back down.

Natasha glared back at Ana, who looked straight down at her locked-up self with a winning smile.

“See you in a minute,” Ana said, and the elevator gates shut with a clang and rose up out of sight.

Natasha moved her wrists around, feeling how tight the chains were, and slumped back, tasting the defeat in her mouth. Everyone she’d met had been turned into a killer because of her. Hundreds of people at an airport were dead because of her. The only two allies she’d had were locked up and tortured next to her. And the one boy she thought she’d kept out of sight was lying on the chair above her, a thin trail of blood dripping onto the stone-cold floor.

Natasha couldn’t protect anyone. She’d failed.

“We’re screwed, aren’t we?”

Natasha met Yelena’s face. Bruises and small cuts made it difficult to make out a certain expression, but it was easy to see the anger and annoyance in the way she glared at the ground.

Natasha hesitated for a moment, then raised her brows in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was orginally going to be much longer, but in the end i decided to split this chapter and the one following into two different ones. mostly because i want to have a lot of time on the next chapter and didn't want to lump it into this darker one. im hoping to finish the entire story by the end of june, or for me by the end of the school year. i'm done with most of my exams which means i'll have much more time to write! thank you for reading, dont hesitate in leaving kudos or a comment :)


	15. Part 15

“You okay?”

Bucky glanced up at Natasha, and simply shrugged. He cradled his arm, that was still spilling out blood. “I’ve been through worse.”

“We all have,” Yelena broke in.

Nothing but the sound of tech humming followed that. Natasha couldn’t bear to lift her head and see the body of a boy she tried to protect.

“I’m sorry.”

The words fell out of Natasha’s mouth the minute they popped into her mind.

Yelena narrowed her eyes at her. “The great Black Widow apologizing? Gather ‘round, its gonna be the performance of a lifetime.”

“Yelena—” Natasha said through gritted teeth.

“No, you know what?” Yelena said, adjusting her position so she could glare at Natasha. “I had one mission. That’s it. That’s all I had to do. I had one hit.”

“A hit?” Natasha said, her voice low in volume, contrasting the anger in her voice. “A hit assigned by the very same one who locked us up. You didn’t even tell me you recognized the driver tailing us after the ballet as the one who hooked you up.”

“Why should I have trusted you? You’re nothing like the girl they trained here,” Yelena said, almost laughing at this point. “That Natalia would’ve never gone rogue without thinking through every possibility. Christ, you’re friends with Gods and billionaires! You brought me back into this hellhole again, and for what?”

Natasha fell silent.

“And him too!” Yelena continued, not letting her words settle on Natasha for a second. Bucky glanced up, his eyes hooded and dark.

“For someone who refused to ask your fellow _Avengers_ for help you sure had no problem dragging us into this,” she said with a snarl.

“Don’t you bring me into your little fit,” Bucky muttered in a dangerously low voice. “It’s not her fault I’m here.”

“Isn’t it?” Yelena hissed, her glare moving to Bucky. “I wonder, if it had been anyone other than her, would’ve you have jumped on this suicide mission?”

“Shut the hell up, Yelena,” Bucky said tiredly. “It’s no damn wonder you work alone.”

“You people have no idea what I’ve been through,” Yelena snapped.

Natasha’s expression combined shock and confusion as she stared down at Yelena. “We are possibly the only two people on this planet who do know what you’ve been through.”

Yelena looked away, but Bucky nor Natasha didn’t defer.

“We’re gonna die anyway,” Bucky muttered, shrugging. “Might as well.”

There were a few seconds of silence, with only the hum, and occasional fall of droplets of blood from Adrian’s motionless body. Yelena turned away, refusing to talk.

“I don’t sleep.”

Natasha, surprised at his voice, turned to the person she thought least likely to speak up: Bucky.

Those three words seemed to resonate with Yelena as well, and she shifted slightly, hiding her face but listening intently.

“I…can’t sleep,” he continued. “If I try, I just see their faces. Over and over and I can’t get it out of my head. I went to the museum, you know.”

Natasha leaned forward, confused.

“The one with Steve,” he said under his breath. “They have a panel there about me. And none of it makes any sense. I thought if I stayed out of HYDRAs reach it would come back but it hasn’t. All I see when I close my eyes is the people I’ve killed. Nothing else.”

Natasha met his eyes. Telling him not to blame himself was useless. She’d tried it before with another friend who was brainwashed and the guilt didn’t go away then either.

“They’ll come back,” Natasha spoke up. “The memories, it takes time.”

“Yeah? How do you know?”

Natasha didn’t answer. She didn’t have one, anyway, and any other words of comfort felt fake.

“Besides, if I ever made any progress it’ll be gone soon. For good.”

“No.” Natasha shook her head. “We have to get out of this. We always do. Listen, this won’t be how your story ends.”

She glanced at Yelena, who looked back apprehensively.

“You’re right. I got us into this mess and I’ll get us out.”

“You didn’t—”

“I did,” Natasha said, interrupting Bucky.

“You didn’t.”

Natasha desisted her arguing when it was Yelena who spoke up. Yelena glanced at Bucky.

“You’re right, we are essentially dying soon so I might as well,” Yelena muttered. “I…I didn’t leave this place because I wanted out.”

Natasha’s brows furrowed and she squinted at Yelena.

“That day, I overheard that silver haired wench say that I was failing. If I couldn’t prove myself against…against him—” Yelena nodded at Bucky, “—they’d have me executed tomorrow.”

“The restraints in bed were loose, I hadn’t been eating much that week,” Yelena continued. “I slipped out after a few hours of struggling, broke a window and got out. I told myself I would train and fight and learn for the rest of life, until one day I could come back and show them what they were missing. Because all they cared about was their prima ballerina. Natalia Romanova.”

Natasha glanced down. She never thought Madame B. gloated about her. But hearing from two women now that claimed they were fueled by a jealously of how Madame B. talked about her put things in perspective.

“God, I _hated_ you,” Yelena said with an exasperated scoff. “ _Look at Romanova, perfect form. Learn something from Romanova. You’re weak, keep up with Romanova._ Then I found out you defected. And I saw my chance, to show them what a true Black Widow is. But when I came home, they were gone. The Red Room was gone. And that was it.”

Natasha breathed out after hearing Yelena’s true side of the story. She nodded reassuringly at her. “I get it. It’s a little melodramatic but I get it.”

Yelena scoffed again, but this time it sounded more like an enjoyable laugh that a mocking one.

“I tried to find you, but you were an American now. A SHIELD agent. I tracked you down Sao Paulo once. Remember when you told that guy you thought you were being followed?”

“That was you?” Natasha hissed. That mission scarred her, the people she didn’t have time to save because she was obsessed with the idea of a stalker trailing them.

Yelena nodded. “I was going to, you know introduce myself, maybe stab you or something, but you were with that partner. You were always protected. I just gave up, and hoped one day the Red Room would be reinstated and I’d be at the top.”

“You forced me to let twenty-three people die.”

Yelena’s brows rose. “Excuse me. I didn’t do anything. Maybe if you did your mission instead of worrying about me that wouldn’t have happened.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. That day was years behind her, and the memory didn’t cut as deep as it used to. She considered throwing another insult at the woman who seemed to be the cause for yet another traumatic point of her life, but let it go.

“His name is Clint, by the way. My partner.”

“Yeah okay I don’t care,” Yelena said under her breath, glancing away from Natasha.

“So, you’ve been working a conflicting agenda this whole time,” Bucky spoke up. Natasha looked back at her, wondering if she had plans to betray them.

“Ease up Romanova, I’m not double crossing you. Yet again Madame Bitch chose to make this whole thing about you. You know this whole time I’ve been locked up she didn’t say a word to me? Not even a greeting?”

“She and her daughter did a whole monologue with me you’re not missing out on much,” Natasha said with a grin, and was surprised that despite the setting she was currently trapped in, gossiping and making fun of her enemy with Yelena was actually…comforting?

“Hmm. Would’ve been nice to be recognized,” Yelena murmured. “The way she didn’t look at me made me think I was just the freeloader on this whole trip.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Bucky said, “remember they tricked and paid you into assassinating someone at a ballet, so we all could meet up and get dragged into this.”

Yelena’s mouth tilted upwards. “That actually does, thanks.”

“So, you’ll be on our side, if we attempt to get out of this?” Natasha asked, gesturing to the chains around Yelena.

Yelena sighed like it was the most painful decision of her life. “Yeah, I guess. You know if you asked me…what…fifty years ago to have my memories wiped so I could serve higher powers in Russia I would’ve done it.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “What changed?”

Yelena smirked dangerously. “I worked my ass off to prove myself to them, and they ignored me, and now they think they can reap those awards. I’m not gonna give them that damn satisfaction.”

She turned to Natasha. “You better have some sort of plan going on, because if not I’m gonna kill myself before they get my body to use.”

“I have…half of plan. We’re not gonna be fighting our way with fists at first,” Natasha said. “The girl, Ana. She’s still jealous of me. She thinks she has power over me, but if I know what wire to cut, I can win.”

Bucky watched Natasha fervently, with a small smile of pride as he saw her figure out how to beat them.

“If you want to kill someone like her…if you want to kill a queen, you cut off her resources. She’s protected so you weaken her, you turn her supporters against her. You control her like a puppet so she kills herself without even knowing you pulled the trigger.”

Natasha glanced up at Adrian’s body, and felt another wave of anger surge through her.

Then she faced Yelena. “Luckily people like her are easy to control, though they themselves think the opposite. See, Ana wants to prove herself to her mother. Just like you. She hates me. Just like you.”

Yelena didn’t respond with snark, instead leaned forward as much as the chains allowed her to with curiosity, and then understanding.

Natasha met her eyes. “What would I have had to say to you back then to make you snap?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im quite sure i have just 2 chapters left now, according to my outline. not much to say now until the big finish, but i really liked writing yelena a little closer to her comic counterpart though i did change her quite a bit for this story. leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed!!


	16. Part 16

When the gates clanged open, the elevator was filled with faceless men and women. Natasha counted seven. Two for her, two for Yelena and two for Bucky. They gripped their prisoners tightly, unhooking the chains from the walls and supplying a few gut punches to weaken them so they couldn’t fight back. The seventh one carried Adrian’s body behind them into the elevator.

One of the men dragging Yelena wrenched her arm back as he shoved her in, eliciting a grunt from her. Yelena looked up at him as everyone climbed inside and the elevator hummed to life and moved upwards.

“Oh, you’re gonna be the first one I kill when I get out of this,” Yelena said with a growl, shaking her chains once as an intimidation attempt. The man appeared unfazed, yet Natasha threw a look at her to keep her mouth shut for now.

The elevator rose slowly, and Natasha felt the grip on her arms from her captors lessen, and she realized just then how weak they all must be, if they were all turned and not yet trained extensively.  

She met Bucky’s eyes, and was almost sure he was thinking the same.

The elevator jerked to a stop, and the gates opened on a grey hallway, cold and odorless.

Natasha glanced at Bucky again, as they all moved out, and caught the metal on his left arm sliding into place, a sure sign of him clenching his fist. He cocked his head to the side, asking a question.

_Should we fight? We can do it. We can get out right now._

Natasha’s eyes moved around the hallway rapidly, thoughts racing in her head. Three of the best assassins in the world against seven brainwashed but normal people.

It wasn’t even a question. The three of them could take the others out without even breaking a sweat.

Except…

Ana had planned a game. And Natasha played right into it, making her feel like a damn good spy again. The whole mission was a game. And Ana knew Natasha’s skill exceeded her seven henchmen combined.

Natasha looked at Bucky, and shook her head.

She was still in the game. And Ana sent her useless henchmen to fetch them because she knew Natasha could break out.

Bucky’s face flashed mild confusion and surprise, but he stayed silent.

The Red Room’s hallways lasted an eternity. A cold, cemented hell, with black doors that even the inhabitants knew nothing about. One led to the dining hall, which never really served quality food. One led to the bedrooms. One to what could only be described as a torture chamber. Other doors, Natasha had never had the pleasure of visiting. Or displeasure.

But Ana’s henchmen led them through the hallway, all the way to the end, turning a corner, through a decorated but faded archway, turning another corner, and finally through a rather large door.

Whatever Natasha had been expecting, it wasn’t what she entered. The first word that came to mind was ballroom. Seeing so many colors contrasting the grey interior outside almost made her stagger backwards. Hearing soft, muted party music forced a thought that she was hallucinating.

What was even scarier, was despite multiple guests seeing three ragged, bloody, shocked prisoners enter their upscale, glamorous party with glistening wine glasses and a dazzling but excessive golden chandelier, no one seemed bothered. They gave their glance, and moved on.

Then she moved into their vision. Ana, in a stunningly beautiful silver ballgown, decorated with glitter and jewels, her hair twisted up and her lips pained a dark red. She smiled like they were old friends, and her fingers tapped her wine glass.

“Welcome,” Ana said with a wink. Her smile was disgustingly pleasant. For a second Natasha wondered if she was actually hallucinating, but she saw the flicker in Ana’s eyes, confirming she wasn’t actually being affectionate with them.

Ana fluttered her fingers at a charmingly dressed man beside her. “Tell the band to finish up, we have a presentation now.”

The man nodded and strolled away.

Natasha looked back at Yelena, who was just as wide-eyed. “How long were we down there?”

Yelena shrugged, shaking her head in disbelief. Natasha estimated just ten minutes, but Ana’s hair was so delicately done it must’ve taken an hour. Perhaps discussing their plan took longer than she thought.

“Blue suit, ten o’clock.” Bucky’s quiet voice floated into Natasha’s ears. Natasha’s eyes followed his instructions, and located a tall man talking eagerly with a crowd, and spotted the unmistakable print of a gun in his jacket.

Her henchmen weren’t all emotionless, Natasha thought to herself, and was almost calmed by the fact that this was indeed a setup and not a figment of her imagination.

Ana stepped forward, looking deep into Natasha’s eyes. Her lips parted and she threw looks at Natasha’s chains, and her own workers holding them upright.

“You caught on quick,” Ana said under her breath with a smile. “I expect nothing less.”

Natasha remained impassive.

“Do you know what would’ve happened if you actually tried to escape back there?” Ana said softly, lifting her eyebrow. “You and your little friends would’ve been shot on site. By my guards in every corner of this building, and by my snipers in the forest. I’m glad you used your pretty little mind, though. Now we have more time to talk.”

Ana turned away gracefully, her dress twirling around like a ballerina, and she danced away from them, greeting other guests.

“Well this is…some crowd,” Yelena muttered.

Natasha let the corners of her mouth tilt up. “It’s better this way.”

“How is this better?” Bucky retorted.

“The bigger the crowd, the harder she falls,” Natasha responded quietly.

A clinking of glass alerted Natasha’s attention. Ana stood at the far end of the room, capturing everyone’s attention. Behind her, in an adorned, tall chair, sat Madame B. in a simple blue dress, surrounded by other men wearing decorated uniforms. Their badges and medals flashed from the chandelier’s light.

Madame B. looked honestly bored, but she was still poised like a doll, watching Natasha, as she always did.

“Thank you all so much for coming,” Ana began with a bright smile. “I assume you’ve all seen our guests, who have finally arrived.”

With that, the henchmen and women holding the three of them jerked them forward, and the crowd parted like the red sea to let them through.

“Today is a new day for us all,” Ana continued. “The rebirth of a dead war. One that I intend to win, to win for those we have lost.”

Natasha’s gaze locked on every guest she could. Most of them were old. But she recognized them. When they were younger, they were war generals, people at the top of their class in the Soviet Union, children of fallen leaders and generals. Soldiers who thirsted for revenge.

People who stood by as Bucky trained her. And people who used to control Bucky.

Their smiles were as fake as Ana’s.

“I have created a new step forward in technology, and I did it for everyone in this room,” Ana said, and the man who carried Adrian’s body moved up to her.

“His name is Adrian, one of the townsfolk,” Ana spoke. The man carrying him set him in a chair beside Ana.

“Adrian here was injected with a serum designed to erase memories, to make room for ones in which he will always know to follow me.”

The man brandished a taser, and in an instant, struck Adrian with it, and a sizzle audibly startled the audience.

Natasha stared at the body, and hid her horror as Adrian blinked and twisted around as he woke up. His eyes blank, his face emotionless.

Ana stepped into his vision, and placed her hand over his cheek.

“You will follow me.”

Adrian nodded once, and stepped back, like a guard dog.

And that was it. He was gone forever, turned into another one of her mercenaries. An injection by bullet, electric energy waking him up.

Adrian was as good as dead. She might as well call him by a number now for all he’d care.

“Many of my guests will recognize the three standing before me,” Ana continued, turning her gaze onto Natasha.

Natasha didn’t look at her, instead gave a subtle nod to Yelena. A nod that signified the start of a plan.

“Yelena Belova,” Ana said, gesturing towards Yelena. “The only one who left the Red Room before graduation. Now returned, ready to fulfill her role in society.”

And following that, shockingly, a smattering of applause. Like they were objects being sold to the highest bidder.

“The Winter Soldier,” she said, her hand moving to Bucky. Natasha noticed his fists curling again, and saw his eyes darken. “HYDRA’s best weapon, a perfect killing machine. Pity they were too incompetent to keep it on their leash.”

A laugh preceded the next round of applause.

“And finally, the crown jewel of the Red Room,” Ana said, meeting Natasha’s eyes. “Miss Natalia Alianovna Romanova. The Black Widow.”

Applause followed that as well, louder than before. Natasha’s hard stare didn’t move from Ana’s.

“A girl who defected, and joined the Americans. A girl who joined the Avengers.”

Jeering laughter was heard after Ana’s words, which were inflicted with anger.

“Don’t worry,” Ana giggled at the response. “She’ll be back where she belongs soon.”

“It’s not gonna work.”

The remnants of laughter and clapping died at Yelena’s words, which cut Ana’s monologue.

“HYDRA already tried this brainwashed soldier nonsense and look how that turned out,” Yelena said with nonchalance. Madame B. finally moved her stare from Natasha to Yelena.

“The Soviet Union, no, Russia, is more powerful than HYDRA could ever dream of being,” Ana replied calmly, almost with annoyance.

“Oh right, that’s why you lost the Cold War,” Yelena muttered just loud enough to be heard by the party goers.

“The War never ended,” Ana stated with finality, earning a cheer in the back of the room. “And with you training our soldiers, we will be victorious.”

Yelena took a daring step forward, still constrained by the chains. “If I’m being honest, I did consider your side. But then I realized you were doing that witch’s orders, and I don’t plan on working for her again,” she said, nodding at Madame B.

Ana pursed her lips, and her eyes squinted in curiosity.

“A lapdog has more independence from its owner than you do to your mother,” Yelena said with a scoff.

Ana didn’t respond, letting the silent shock at Yelena’s words fill the room. The partygoers watched, with both worry and engrossment.

Ana placed her wineglass down, and stalked towards Natasha with a knowing smile.

“Is this your idea? Have her throw empty words at me?” Ana stopped right in front of Natasha, who looked down on her.

“Is this how you plan on getting in my head?”

Natasha smiled back at the perfect opening.

“I don’t need to worry about getting in your head,” Natasha said in a voice sweet but sharp. “I’m already there. I’ve been in there your whole life.”

Ana’s smile froze on her face, but she held her composure well. Her mother, however, broke her perfect pose and sat up, watching Natasha with an unreadable expression.

“Tell me, what was it like being told of my accomplishments since your birth?” Natasha asked. “Were they like bedtime stories? Lullabies? It must’ve been hard having to compare to me all your life. Then seeing despite your mother’s adoration of me, I still defected and abandoned my country.”

Ana swallowed and Natasha saw a nerve twitch, but the woman still held her ground.

So, Natasha pressed forward, mentally running through what Yelena had bluntly told her back in the chamber they were locked in.

“So you invented a serum. You created soldiers who will never wake up from your spell. An improvement of us, and improvement of the Winter Soldier. And still, you don’t get mommy’s approval.”

Ana’s lips tightened and twitched, her smile gone. The mocking baby voice Natasha appropriated at the end seemed to have done the trick.

_How do you kill a queen?_

Natasha grinned victoriously. Then she glanced up, at Madame B., and the generals who seemed to be people supporting Ana’s endeavors.

_You turn her supporters against her._

“Is this who you’re following?” Natasha called out to them, who were listening intently. “A spineless girl who only ever does what she thinks will win her mother’s approval?”

One of the generals exchanged looks with the other.

“Get the serums ready,” Ana snarled at one of her henchmen, who left the moment she finished. She faced the generals with grace, returning to her modest, rich party host persona.

“You will soon see my miracle truly in work,” Ana spoke to them. She pointed to Natasha. “Transforming this traitor into your soldier.”

The eldest general who seemed to be at the top of the ladder, considering the men who had been whispering things to him as Natasha was speaking, rose and raised a hand. Ana’s words stuttered into silence.

“Perhaps we were rash.”

Ana’s smile faded again.

“It is the work of a child,” he continued in a croaky but commanding tone. He gestured into the party. “To manufacture such an elaborate setting, all to feel the satisfaction of winning a game of jealously.”

“I am not a child,” Ana said harshly.

The man’s expression turned cold. “Such are the words of a child.” He turned to Madame B. “She is not ready.”

“I am prepared to agree with you,” Madame B. said flatly, a look of displeasure spreading across her face as she looked down on her daughter.

“You would listen to the words of your enemy, over me?” Ana said, her voice rising to a dangerous pitch. “Me? You were all ready to hang up your coats, but I was the one who gave you a chance at revenge. I was _born_ in the Cold War. And yet you call me a child.”

 When the man simply tilted his head, watching Ana like a science project, Ana continued her little rant, taking center stage for her audience to see.

“You are all my funding, and I thank you.” Ana looked at all her guests, attempting to put her gracious host façade back on. “Because of your contributions, we have flown over the hurdle of mapping the mind. We have discovered a way to erase memories, in a way that makes room for new ones. In return of your support, I promised you the victory of a war won.”

Ana smiled again. She was winning her audience back. “And you will get it. I lost my father to the Americans. And I know you know how that feels. To lose someone, and never be at peace because of it. You have lost your parents, brothers and sisters, your friends…And we’re going to make the people who killed them pay. My superiors call me a child. Because they’ve seen nothing but failure of their country. But was it them who captured the three deadliest assassins on this planet? Was it them who created a bullet that would destroy any enemy and turn them?”

“I ask you,” Ana said, slowing her speech. “To imagine a battlefield, where an enemy soldier’s death, means another soldier for us. Imagine standing on a battlefield, as the Americans watch their own beacons of hope, their precious Avengers, standing by our side. One bullet. And their ours forever.”

Natasha quickly wracked her brain. Ana was good, damn good. She wasn’t going down easy.

“All you need to do is take the last step. Trust me. I have worked my whole life for you, and we’re inches from taking back everything that was stolen from you. Trust me.”

Madame B. stood up, almost towering over her daughter. In the fleeting moment Ana was no longer eyeing her, Natasha whispered a short sentence to Bucky.

“You have not won your war yet,” Madame B. said abrasively. “All I see is a girl begging us to like her. Show us.”

Ana’s face turned murderous, but she swallowed her feelings. “Of course, mother.”

Natasha relaxed. She didn’t need to say anything. Ana proved herself to be dependent on her mother’s approval in that three worded sentences. The generals seemed even more uneasy, and whispers broke out amongst the crowd.

The man who had left to fetch the serum returned, carrying the black box that contained the silver gun. Ana opened the box, and pulled out the gun.

Natasha glanced at Bucky’s chains. Or truthfully, his now lack of.

His metal hand had crushed the chains while Ana had been showcasing the gun and loading bullets.

Yelena curled her fists after seeing what Natasha had looked at.

“Let me show you the Black Widow you deserved to have, but who only I could give you,” Ana spoke with a wicked smile, and aimed it at Natasha’s heart. She looked back at her mother, making sure Madame B. was watching.

And in that split second, Bucky moved. Faster than anyone could have anticipated. Within seconds, the men who had brought him in were on the floor, and the gun had been wrenched out of Ana’s hands.

Gasps filled the room, and the generals rose, shouting orders amidst the chaos.

Yelena slammed her elbow into the woman behind her, and wrapped her still chained hands around the man she told she’d kill, strangling him so hard blood from his neck spurted out under the chains.

Natasha jerked forward, reaching for Ana and shoving her into the crowd.

“Hey!” Natasha called out to Bucky, who in an instant crushed the thin chain linking Natasha’s wrists and ankles, allowing her more freedom. He then repeated the action with Yelena.

And so they were free of Ana’s web.

Ana’s guests ran, the general’s took cover and led Madame B. away, and Ana’s henchmen aimed and fired, narrowly avoiding Natasha.

“Just get out!” she shouted to her teammates. The three of them split up. It was easier to avoid bullets alone than in a group.

Natasha used the flamboyant dresses as disguises, weaving through the party goers with ease. She took out anyone she assumed carried a weapon, and adorned their guns bit by bit. Yelena and Bucky were already out of the room.

Natasha threw one look back at Ana, who was raising her own common handgun, her expression filled with so much fury it could kill. Natasha sprinted out and slammed the door shut behind her.

In a burst of energy, she ripped the door handle off, locking everyone else in there to give her a few seconds head start.

“Well that was effective,” Bucky said with a chuckle, glancing around. Natasha breathed a sigh of relief that her friends were indeed outside the room.

“Remember the armory? If I’m right its just down the hallway,” Yelena said, pointing to their left.

Natasha nodded, vaguely remembering small missions in training where they would have to suit up and choose weapons. “We can lock the door, prepare.”

Another round of shouts reached their ears and Natasha rose her hand, shooting two women sporting guns in the head who had spotted them.

“Lead the way,” Natasha said. The three of them took off, Natasha trailing behind and firing at every one of Ana’s henchmen who shouted to kill them.

Their sprint took barely ten seconds, before Yelena stopped. A padlock sealed a black door they had stopped at.

Yelena glanced at Bucky. “You mind?”

Bucky’s lips twisted into a small grin, and he reached for the lock with his left arm, ripping it clean off. Yelena opened the door, running inside. Once Natasha entered, Yelena shut the door.

“Well we can’t lock the door anymore,” Natasha said with a shrug.

Yelena looked around. She nodded at Bucky. “Help me with this.”

As the two of them shoved a cabinet in front of the door, Natasha stepped into the center of the room.

“We have minutes at most,” Natasha spoke with urgency. Bucky placed the silver gun he’d taken out of Ana’s grip on the table as she eyed the room.

A single florescent light on the ceiling showed her everything. Covering the walls stood cabinets with glass panes, showcasing rifles, machine guns, automatics and more. Handguns lay in a fine order by another wall. Knives, daggers, spears and axes hung in display on hooks. Several grenades and bombs were confined in an ornate black chest in front of her. The weapons varied intensively, from nunchucks and throwing stars to electric batons and toxic gas explosives. Guns of every size and probably most types were impossible to miss. In the cabinet Yelena and Bucky had shoved aside hung several stealth suits, neat and ready.

In the middle of the room, a simple white table, probably for mission planning and debriefing.

“Get everything you need. Don’t waste a second.”

Natasha stripped her tattered and bloody outfit, opting for the black suit waiting for her. Red Room logos were sewed on the shoulders, which Natasha immediately ripped off. The suits were also fitted with Kevlar fabric on the chest, back and thighs, which would at least avoid those body parts being shot at. Natasha then placed two handguns into the gun holsters on either side of her thighs. She slid two thin but sharp knives into sheaths on her forearm, and packed the wrist holders with as many mini gadgets as she could.

She stared at the silver gun on the table. It was loaded already, ready to wipe memories, hers having been the intended.

She reached for the gun and shoved it into a holster on her back.

As Natasha pulled out an automatic as a finality and loaded up, Yelena and Bucky were finishing up as well, suited similarly to her. Yelena had also ripped off the logos, and Bucky had torn off the left sleeve entirely. Each of them was just as well stocked as Natasha.

“Wait,” Bucky said quickly, peering inside the chest of bombs. He pulled out a case with four apparent grenades. He looked up at her.

“We’re here to get out,” Natasha said, shaking her head. “We can’t spend more time here than we should.”

“What is it?” Yelena said, walking over. “Oh…”

“Linking bombs,” Bucky said. “If we split up, find a corner, plant them in each one and turn them on, they link up in their own network and they’ll blow this whole building to ashes.”

Natasha’s jaw clenched, and she looked away.

Yelena tried to catch Natasha’s eye, and stepped in front to talk to her.

“Natasha…”

Natasha looked up in surprise at hearing her first name come out of Yelena’s mouth, in a voice shockingly kind.

“I get it,” Yelena said nodding her head. “It’s melodramatic but I get it.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and let out a short laugh. “I knew saying that to you would bite me in the ass.”

Yelena didn’t crack a smile. “We have to do this.”

“I don’t like what I’m feeling, you know,” Natasha said, grimacing. “But…”

“But above all things, as horrible as this place was, it was your home,” Yelena continued for her. “For most of your life, right? This was all you knew, and who are you without your past? Without proof of this place are you truly the Black Widow?”

Natasha sighed. “There’s no guarantee destroying this place will let us win. The Red Room isn’t a place. It’s an idea, a concept. A program.”

“We have to start somewhere,” Bucky said sadly. “We blow this place and we kill at least part of the idea. The Red Room becomes just a myth, a scary story for the bonfires.”

Banging sounds on the door jolted Natasha out of her thoughts.

Yelena reached for Natasha’s arm, pulling her back into the conversation.

“You’re the Black Widow. Nothing is gonna ever take that from you.”

Natasha hid her grin. She didn’t need to be told that, really.

It was nice to hear though, especially from someone who once despised her.

“Except for me, when I one day inevitably take your crown,” Yelena muttered, flashing an amicable smile at her.

“Right, of course,” Natasha said with a smirk. “Well you have the chance to prove that.”

“So, we’re using the bombs?” Bucky asked in a bored tone, raising his brows in impatience.

Natasha nodded. “Split up, like you said. Find a corner, get out.”

She reached in and took two, leaving one each for Yelena and Bucky.

Bucky looked up at her with worry at that.

“I’ll be fine,” Natasha said, shrugging his concerns away.

The banging grew louder, shouts getting higher.

Natasha glanced at her team, who were poised and ready. She looked at Yelena. “Highest body count wins the title.”

“You’re on,” Yelena mouthed.

Then Natasha shoved the cabinet aside with her leg, and the fight began.

***

The shooting began instantly. Yet none of the bullets hit the three of them, who were communicating silently with looks and moves. Natasha shot at anyone in her sight, who were then fully taken down by Yelena. The two were guarded by Bucky, who managed to take people down by simply punching with his metal fist. It was almost effortless, and Natasha almost found herself _enjoying_ this.

She loved working alone.

But the feeling when you’re working with a team that shares your skillset is one that is rarely topped. And for Natasha, rarely experienced.

The moment the hallway thinned, Natasha sprinted away to the right, leaving Bucky and Yelena to fight their way out and head left.

Yelena threw a smoke grenade behind them, giving them so coverage to turn a hallway and arrive in a sort of maze. Approaching them from every door were more of Ana’s henchmen, calling into their earpieces that they located them.

“You got my back, I hope,” Yelena muttered to Bucky.

“Do I have to?” Bucky said in mock annoyance, earning an actual genuine smile from her. Yelena stepped in front of him, aiming her submachine gun down the hallway and firing rapidly. Bucky turned to watch her six, using a combination of his own automatic and his metal arm to take down the men and women attempting to kill them.

And on and on, the duo tore through a wave of emotionless mercenaries, who were untrained and too easy to incapacitate. They silently worked together, Bucky blocking bullets with his hand and Yelena staying and holding his back without prompt.

In only minutes, the hallways were cleared and Yelena and Bucky found a fork path, one leading towards a staircase that descended into an entrance area, another the opposite way towards a courtyard behind glass windows.

“I’ll go down,” Yelena shouted, sliding down the railing of the stairs. Bucky moved away from her, sprinting towards the courtyard and smashing through the glass.

Vague memories of this place broke through his mind. This was a corner. An exterior area packed with luscious green plants and a tidy pavement for relaxing he presumed, that stood near the doors of the entire building. The courtyard was tucked into a small corner of the Red Room, and he remembered suddenly standing by while his then superior conversed with Red Room leaders.

Bucky grinned at the feeling. His memories finally feeling meaningful, useful. He placed the bomb into one of the hanging potted plants, and flicked the switch. The bomb beeped to life, and flashed a small single red light on its wide screen.

His was the first activated. Which means Yelena and Natasha were still struggling.

Or they were dead.

Bucky fought that thought, and pushed through it.

He could go back, he could help.

No. Natasha was strong, the strongest person he’d probably ever met. She’d get through it. She’d see it through. She had to.

Then Bucky peered through the windows of the courtyard, and his sniper trained eye spotted people hiding in the trees outside the building, concealed in the snow and forest. As well as guards spreading out into the outer areas, waiting for him and his team to exit.

He reloaded his gun, and broke through the other glass. The shatter caught their attention, and soon Bucky had jumped and rolled onto the ground, shooting out the other snipers to clear the way for Natasha and Yelena.

***

The snipers weren’t terrible, but he picked them off with more ease than usual. The snow turned red in some areas, like ink falling into water. Red tendrils clawing out from bodies. Bucky used the scope to scout for other snipers, but the trees were clear.

A sudden click, and Bucky swiveled around, his finger on the trigger.

Yelena.

Bucky let down his guard.

Yelena glanced around the bodies, still reloading her submachine gun. She trudged through the snow to stand next to him.

“We clear?”

“As far as I can see. You place the bomb?”

Yelena nodded.

“How many red dots?”

Yelena narrowed her eyes. “Two…why?”

Bucky sighed. “Two…It means she hasn’t placed either of the bombs yet.”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “She fought with Gods and monsters against an alien invasion, I’m pretty sure a few incompetent mercenaries aren’t a challenge anymore.”

Bucky’s lips tightened.

“We should do a recon, check if these woods are really empty,” Yelena told him, slapping her left hand back on her gun. Bucky nodded, and followed after her into the woods. He looked over his shoulder at the still standing building, and hoped to God Natasha was still kicking.

***

Natasha placed the third bomb on top of one of the men she’d taken out, flipping the switch and seeing three red dots flash on the screen. She let out a calm breath, realizing that both Bucky and Yelena had activated their bombs.

Her run had been clearer than she anticipated. Men and women in formal wear screamed and ran the moment they spotted her. She let them live. A few of Ana’s henchmen found her in the hallways. They didn’t even have the time to aim before Natasha had taken them down.

Other than that, her path had been relatively bloodless.

Until she rounded a corner on the other side of the building, near the training rooms for ballet.

The eldest general who had spoken against Ana was communicating with his guards with urgency when he noticed Natasha enter his line of sight. His guards immediately spun into position, waiting for orders.

The general met her eyes with pure anger. He pointed a wrinkled finger at her.

“Kill her.”

Natasha didn’t hesitate, and started running forward. One of the guards pulled out a knife. Natasha gained momentum and performed a side flip over his arm. Mid turn she flipped her handgun up and caught the nozzle in her grip. She swung the gun, striking another guard in the head. She followed through on her turn and used her left leg to hook another man’s shoulder, and used his stumbling to push up and sit on his shoulders, sliding her legs into position. Using her handgun, she shot at remaining guards, who were near dizzy at Natasha’s agility. She struck the man underneath her, and he collapsed. Natasha rolled off his shoulders and ran, using another’s body as a spring board to leap into the air. She swiveled in mid air and clenched her wrists, electric discharge flying off in front of her and hitting the final guard. He collapsed just as she did, and Natasha groaned as her back hit the hard floor.

Natasha did a swift kip up, and recollected herself. The general, the only one now still standing, eyed her, fear striking across his face.

He shook his head like he was disappointed in her, and opened his mouth with a sour expression on his face.

Natasha shot him without hesitation.

Then she kept walking, not even sparing a second glance at him.

She kept moving until she reached the final corner of the Red Room, one of the largest ballet studios in the building. A bronze, intricately designed door led her into the studio itself.

Inside, the dark wooden floor contrasted immediately from the stone rooms and grey hallways outside. Floor to ceiling mirrors covered the wall in front of her, with typical wooden bars stationed beside it. A decorative piano stood in the corner.

Natasha rushed to the piano and placed the bomb under the lid. She flicked the switch, and four red dots popped up on screen. The dots then all flashed green, and a countdown began. Five minutes.

If she had that much time to get out, the magnitude of this explosion had to be huge.

The door opened.

Natasha spun around, holding up her gun, but hesitated when she saw who had stormed in.

Ana, limping, with blood falling in a thin stream down the side of her head. And Madame B. right behind her. Ana sported a crazy smile that twisted quickly into rage, and she too carried a gun.

 _Well, she snapped,_ Natasha thought to herself.

“You,” Ana growled, panting. “I have you now.”

“I’d get out of my way if I were you,” Natasha said in a low voice. “I won’t ask again.”

“You won’t need to,” Ana said flatly. Natasha moved lightning fast and ducked behind the piano just as Ana fired her gun.

“Come out, Natalia!” Ana squealed.

“You brought your mother to watch you kill me?” Natasha called out, placing her handgun back in her holster.

“I’m gonna win,” Ana panted. “And she’s gonna finally see me do it.”

“You hauled me here for this?” Madame B.’s cold voice rang out. “You insufferable child—”

“Shut up!” Ana screamed. Natasha peeked out and saw Ana pointing the gun at her mother instead.

“You. Will. Listen!” Ana screamed. “I did what you failed to do! I brought her back!”

Natasha watched the standoff, and her eyes widened when Madame B. abruptly snatched the gun out of her daughter’s hands, and proceeded to slap her so hard the noise echoed.

“You did no such thing. As far as I can see two of your assets have disappeared, and the third is still alive. Your superiors will disavow you.”

Natasha estimated four minutes left. A window in front of her stood, so pristine it begged her to shatter it and jump. Escape while two women fought.

“Mother please…”

Natasha could practically hear the tears falling.

“You failed. Spectacularly. I know I raised you better.”

“Mother—"

Natasha reached for a different gun on her back, and stood up. She wasn’t one for sentiments, but this was one battle she didn’t intend leaving open ended.

Ana stared at Natasha with puffy eyes that were quickly filled with hatred, then surprise at seeing her hold the silver gun.

“I’ll kill you,” Ana whispered.

“Seeing as I’m holding the weapon that should be my line,” Natasha said, raising her eyebrows and smirking.

The smirk seemed to do it, and Ana reached for the gun in her mother’s hand and pointed it at her again.

“I caught you!” Ana said, her voice rising again. “I tricked you and I’m the only one who can say that. I caught you, and I’ll be the one to kill you.”

“Get it over with,” Madame B. hissed.

Natasha’s fingers found the trigger, waiting to release the bullet that would erase Ana’s memories.

Then Natasha met Madame B. eyes, and suddenly she wondered who the elder woman had been talking to.

The demon that had tormented her was right in front of her. The terror that haunted her for decades.

Ana giggled at the sight of Natasha hesitating, an odd combination with her red face and eyes that were still streaming tears.

“You won’t do it, huh?” Ana mocked. “Come on, Natalia. What did the Americans turn you soft?”

Natasha glanced at Ana. “You’re not worth my bullet.”

Then Natasha shifted the gun to the left just inches and fired.

“No,” Ana gasped.

Madame B. collapsed, falling to the ground as the bullet tore through her chest. Ana reached for her mother, and screamed at her to wake, but her mother’s eyes closed and her memories faded before their eyes.

Natasha stepped back, watching as Ana fully melted down. The full realization that her mother would never appreciate her daughter’s potential achievements, never recognize her again seemed to settle. Ana would never win what she truly wanted, acknowledgment from the one person she never got it from. The game with Natasha never truly mattered. It wasn’t about the Black Widow. It was about a girl who wanted a mother. A girl who would do anything, killing and brainwashing innocents to get it.

And what would she be without that?

_How do you kill a queen?_

Natasha turned away, using the gun to break the window. Ana’s sobs still echoed throughout the room, and she fully ignored Natasha. Then she placed the silver gun that had already wiped too many people right next to the bomb.

She barely had minutes left to leave. Natasha leaped onto the window sill.

Then the gunshot rang out.

Natasha turned, knowing exactly what she’d see.

Ana, lying over her mother’s body, dead. The self-inflicted bullet wound in her head, blood pooling around their bodies.

The gun she used on herself had fallen inches from her hand.

The last pieces of her life faded from her eyes; eyes still filled with tears.

_You kill her by making her kill herself. So she doesn’t even know it was you who pulled the trigger._

Natasha gave one last grim look at the two. Then she jumped off the window, leaving the Red Room behind for good.

***

“Something’s wrong,” Bucky said, shaking his head.

Yelena bit her lip. “She should’ve been out by now.”

Bucky’s eyes moved rapidly across the field and castle, searching for broken windows. They were all the way back in the tree line, safe from the impending explosion, but too far to accurately identify anyone.

Yelena gripped Bucky’s arm, and pointed. “There.”

Bucky turned his head, spotting a figure stumble out from behind the building, a figure with fiery red hair.

“She’s limping…” Yelena noted. Bucky immediately started running, Yelena following close after. The snow slowed their run, but they reached Natasha, who held on to Bucky’s arms.

“I might’ve broken a bone down there,” Natasha muttered, and Bucky laughed out loud.

“Oh God can we get to a safe zone before we all sing kumbaya?” Yelena scoffed, pulling the two back.

Natasha moved as independently as she could. Usually a twisted ankle was nothing, but that plus her body still healing from bullet wounds and having to trudge through snow was a little much at the moment.

The countdown in Natasha’s head suddenly went off. The trio approached the tree line just as Natasha shouted to get down.

The moment after, a bright light flashed, nearly blinding them, and a massive boom momentarily deafened them. Yelena threw herself behind a tree and clasped her hands around her ears. Natasha and Bucky followed suit.

The explosion shook the ground, and the shockwave nearly forced them on their knees by the sheer power of the winds.

Natasha peered out seconds later to survey the scene.

The Red Room was entirely consumed by fire and smoke, a mushroom cloud growing.

The building was nearly nonexistent, and snow had been flown back into the air by the wind of the explosion, acting like a snowstorm as it rushed past the tree line.

 Yelena and Bucky let their hands fall, and watched the aftermath alongside Natasha.

And just like that, Natasha’s past was obliterated.

She watched fragments that had survived fall onto the ground and turn to ash, and an inferno devoured anything else that survived. The smell of smoke soon reached them, as evidenced by light coughing from Yelena and Natasha.

“Well I think we won that,” Yelena said, after minutes of simply standing there, watching their childhood home and torture room wither away.

Bucky grinned. “I might have to agree with you.”

Natasha let her face relax and break out into a smile.

“Now what?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there we have it! i finally reached scenes i have been looking forward to writing ever since i started this story! I'm so excited i actually finished it lmao  
> BTW, there's still one more chapter coming, a little epilogue to round everything up, and set characters up for the next movies, AKA Avengers Age of Ultron and Captain America Civil War. Keep your notifs on for the final chapter :)  
> Leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed and thank you for reading <3


	17. Part 17

“Seventeen,” Yelena said as they pushed the jeep out of the quinjet, letting it roll onto the ground. “Not my best body count but…”

“Hmm,” Natasha said, leaning on the jeep. She winked. “Nineteen.”

“Ugh,” Yelena groaned. “Whatever.”

Bucky stepped into their view after dragging out the motorbike he’d parked inside the jeep after he found the two of them fighting in the woods in New York.

“Listen and weep,” Bucky called out, and pointed to himself. “Twenty-two.”

Natasha sighed in mock defeat. “Damn it. Well I guess we have our new Black Widow.”

Bucky grinned, and parked the bike.

After the explosion decimated the Red Room, the three of them had traipsed back to where Natasha had hidden the quinjet. To Yelena and Bucky’s amusement, it did take a minute for Natasha to properly locate the quinjet, since she had activated the retro reflection panels to make it invisible, but they discovered it nonetheless.

Natasha stepped forward, meeting up with Yelena, who was admiring the motorbike.

“So, what’s the plan?” Natasha asked cautiously. Yelena crossed her arms, and leaned back on the jeep.

“I don’t have one.” she shrugged. “Guess my plan is to just…stay alive…and hope something better comes along.”

“You know…” Natasha said with a knowing smile. “There’s always room in the Aven—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Yelena said, cutting her off. “I would literally rather die. Listen, I’ll fight with you against those crazy people back there but that doesn’t mean I’m suddenly an American.”

“Alright, alright,” Natasha said, chuckling and rolling her eyes. “Maybe don’t kill people in opera houses, though.”

“Noted,” Yelena replied. “But still, listen.”

Natasha leaned in, perplexed.

“If something happens, like aliens or whatever come down and try to destroy a city…”

Natasha nodded, narrowing her eyes.

“…Keep me the hell out of it.”

Natasha broke out in laughter, and nodded again. “Of course.”

Yelena smiled at Natasha’s reaction, and looked side to side, squinting at the sun. She balanced back and forth on her toes for a moment, before she held out her hand.

Natasha flashed a small smile, and shook her hand firmly, meeting Yelena’s eyes that didn’t have a speck of animosity left.

Yelena held her hand a little longer, and Natasha understood the unspoken words in Yelena’s expression. A chapter in Natasha’s life that had since been open ended had finally closed, this time with newfound peace and friendship.

Natasha backed up, standing next to Bucky, as Yelena straddled the motorbike.

“And Barnes!” Yelena called out, attracting Bucky’s surprised attention. She winked. “Thanks for the bike!”

Bucky pursed his lips, his brows furrowing as the bike’s engine roared to life, and Yelena drove off, her blonde hair flying in the wind. She drove onto one of the roads, turned a corner, and disappeared from their sight. Soon after, the engine’s sound faded too.

Natasha grinned.

“She stole your bike, didn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Bucky muttered. “It’s fine, I’ll take the jeep then. Where are you headed?”

“US and Russian embassy,” Natasha stated. “To explain all the stuff that’s been going on, and to tell them we neutralized the threat. Plus, I have a stolen quinjet to return.”

Natasha bit her lip, watching Bucky. There were a million things she still felt she had to say. He was another unfinished chapter in her life.

“Listen—”

“I’m not ready,” Bucky interrupted, shaking his head. “I…can’t…go back…”

Natasha eyed him letting her smile fall. “It’s fine,” she said calmly. “I get it.”

She found his eyes. “I’ll be going to the US first thing…You want me to tell him something?”

Bucky shook his head and sighed. “No just…I don’t know.”

“Hey,” Natasha said softly. “You’ll get there, I promise you will. If time is what you need, I’ll give that to you.”

Bucky smiled sadly. “Hopefully, if I’m ready… it’ll be on my terms.”

“You and I, we got dealt a bad hand,” Natasha told him. Bucky listened intently, hanging onto every word. “But…we _can_ move past it. I know I’m still trying to.”

He nodded, and looked off into the distance.

Natasha hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, burrowing her face in his shoulder.

Bucky immediately responded, his arms holding her back and pulling her closer, letting his head fall over her.

They might’ve stood there for minutes for all Natasha knew, but she had no intention of breaking off the embrace. This was the first time in too long she was finally at peace beside him.

Natasha eventually pulled away, fearing she might be stuck in his arms forever. “I _will_ see you around,” Natasha told him, letting him slowly walk over to the jeep.

“I hope so,” Bucky replied, opening the door. He gave her one last smile, before he climbed in, shut the door, and turned on the car. The jeep rumbled to life, and soon he too was driving forward. He reached the same road Yelena took, and went in the opposite direction. The jeep disappeared and so did the engine’s sound.

Natasha stood alone for a moment, hanging on to that last bit of silence before she turned around and walked into the now empty quinjet. She shut the doors, and seated herself in the cockpit, sighing audibly. With her fingers running quickly through her hair, she voice-activated the quinjet, and it hummed alive.

“Take off, head for New York, I’ll specify a vector when we approach,” Natasha spoke. The quinjet began ascending.

“ _Agent Romanoff._ ”

Natasha froze at the familiar, human voice coming from the inner loudspeaker. She fell back in her seat, grimacing.

“Tony.”

“ _You still have my jet, huh_?”

“Apparently,” Natasha responded dryly.

“ _Then I guess we have a lot to talk about._ ”

“Oh do we now?”

“ _JARVIS has footage of you at an airport where something… I don’t know, mildly interesting happened._ ”

Natasha winced. “Great.”

“ _What do you say, you can tell me all about your adventures with my jet over a glass of champagne._ ”

“I’m not gonna have a tea party with you, Stark,” Natasha said, but the tips of her lips lifted slightly.

“ _I’m putting the team back together_.”

Natasha brows lifted.

“ _It’s no big deal. HYDRA has Loki’s scepter and is doing something with it_. _We’re gonna check it out_.”

“No big deal, huh?” Natasha sighed. “Who’s ‘we’?”

“ _Thor is already here, at the tower. Cap and Banner too_.”

Natasha bit her lip.

“ _No idea where Barton is, but I still need my two master assassins. How about it?_ ”

Natasha didn’t respond.

“ _If you don’t come JARVIS will take over and fly you over here himself._ ”

“Uh-huh,” Natasha muttered, rolling her eyes with amusement. She hesitated, pondering over her other two allies. Both of them had left for peace, and she’d started to wonder if she wanted it too.

Natasha sat up. No. She’d fight a little longer. It was what she was best at. And with those boys, she was almost promised a fun mission. Also, she felt she deserved a nice bottle of champagne.

“Dom Perignon, 1990,” Natasha said. “Fresh and ready when I arrive.”

“ _Interesting choice. See you there._ ”

Natasha smiled and let the quinjet fly off from Belarus.

“Take me to the Avengers tower,” Natasha enunciated, unable to stop her smile.

The quinjet launched forward, speeding through the clouds, and took Natasha to the next adventure that awaited her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and scene!
> 
> thank you so much for reading!! it took me 6 months and a lot of frustration and writers block but i finally finished a concept i've always entertained for a Black Widow movie. 
> 
> *ENDGAME SPOILERS*  
> So after this she joins the Avengers again and AOU happens. I figure having Bucky and Nat actually knowing each other would add another level of angst and sadness to CACW when they break off into Team Cap and Team Tony, because i feel like not enough of the characters have any problems with who's on what side, only Cap/Tony/Nat really. Plus it adds more angst in IW and Endgame when Bucky is dusted for Nat, and more angst in Endgame for Bucky when Nat...well dies... I also figure Yelena could make an appearance in the Winter Soldier and Falcon show, as a side character, and we could see her dealing with the snap and Nat's death. I also think Yelena and Sam would make a funny sarcastic budding alliance. That's basically how i saw this story impacting the franchise if it was canon :)  
> I hope you enjoyed!


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